


Dark Blue, Dark Blue

by EllenOfOz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - High School, Bi-Curious Dean Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean/Cas Pinefest 2019, Emo Castiel (Supernatural), Friends to Lovers, Gamer Castiel (Supernatural), Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, MMORPGs, Moondoor (Supernatural), Mutual Pining, Underage Drinking, adventures in formatting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:01:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz
Summary: In late 2006, Castiel and Dean are in the same guild and raid team in the online game, Moondoor. They only know each other by their character names: Niteryder and Thorsangel, but they hang out and chat whenever they’re not raiding. Dean is baffled though—no matter how much time they spend talking online, Angel never reveals anything about himself.That’s because Castiel is in hiding. At school he hides behind his emo image and stays as invisible as he can, but online he’s got to be extra-vigilant. He can’t reveal anything about himself to Ryder, as much as he might like to—doing so would risk bringing trouble down on himself and his mom. There’s something about Ryder that makes him easy to talk to, though.But outside of the game, ghosts from Castiel’s family’s past are out for revenge, and going back to Lawrence, KS to visit his friend Meg could put him in danger.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to _Dark Blue, Dark Blue_! 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy reading this work as much as I enjoyed writing it! It has come right from the heart for me, taking me back to 2006 when I was heavy involved in (aka addicted to) World of Warcraft, as well as a trip down memory lane to the music of that era. 
> 
> If you're not a gamer, please still give this story a chance! In each chapter you’ll find some gaming terms marked with superscript numbers. These are linked to footnotes--if you click on the number you’ll zoom down to the footnote, and you can then click return to go back to where you were. Hopefully this will make it easier for non-gamers to understand what’s happening in the gameplay sections. I’m not sure if the linked footnotes will work in downloaded versions of the fic, but I hope so! Please let me know if you have any trouble with it. And a big thanks to teekettle on tumblr for the [tutorial](http://teekettle.tumblr.com/post/126920988304/live-example-my-ao3-skins-while-ao3-has-a) on footnotes!
> 
> As with any bang fic, there’s a huge list of people to thank for helping me to bring this story to you.
> 
> Firstly, I need to thank my artist partner, [Oubliette-od](http://oubliette-od.tumblr.com/), for being a complete delight to work with throughout this bang. Check out her beautiful artwork in the title banner, and in chapters four and five, or in her [tumblr artpost](http://oubliette-od.tumblr.com/post/183016998883/here-is-the-art-i-did-for-the-deancas-pinefest).
> 
> Next I owe a huge hug to my BFF [WaywardJenn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardJenn) for all her musical expertise. We’ve created playlists for the music in this fic! 
> 
> You can:  
> [Listen in Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2sUA92Mhnyp7qqOBivyKNX) or  
> [Listen in Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/dark-blue/pl.u-leyl0kYfjZxWex)
> 
> And if neither of those work for you, there’s a full list of tracks at the end of chapter eight.
> 
> All the thanks to my dear friends [TrenchcoatBaby](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TrenchcoatBaby) and [MalMuses](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses) for early alpha development on this story, and to my other poor betas who had to put up with my out-of-order writing, [CBFirestarter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CBFirestarter) and [ WaywardAF67](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardAF67). Love you girls! And to the stellar critique and proofreading while either on a bus in Vietnam ([Saltnhalo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltnhalo)) or while up to her eyeballs in her own Pinefest/social life/work ([TrenchcoatBaby](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TrenchcoatBaby)), a million thanks.
> 
> Finally, it seems like such a long time since we all signed up for Pinefest, but I have to thank Mittens and Cass for their stellar Mod skillz, and for introducing me to the wider world of Discord where I’ve met so many new friends. Who knew Destiel writers were such lovely people? <3 
> 
> Phew! Now, on with the story.

_October 27, 2006_

“All right, we’re in the second phase, keep it sharp please, people. I'm at two stacks.”[1] Niteryder’s voice came over the channel, tense as ever. 

The raid[2] fell quiet as everyone concentrated on dodging fireballs. Castiel frantically topped everyone's health up before concentrating his healing spells on Niteryder. 

Castiel's raid team was frustrated. The Painmaster was the final boss of this particular raid, but they'd been trying to take him down for weeks now, with varying success. They could get most of the way through, but the last, most intense phase was where they often failed, and it was driving everyone crazy. 

“Kevin, are you in the fucking fire again?” the other healer called. Castiel cursed under his breath and managed to throw a shield on Kevin before he died, while Anna went to work, healing him back up.

“Okay, here it comes,” Niteryder bit out, as the phase shifted and fire started dropping from above. 

The raid scattered, trying to avoid the burning rain, and Cas threw heals over the DPS[3]. He refocused on Niteryder just as he started shouting into his mic, "Need heals, now!" Cas jumped on his healing cooldowns[4], sighing with relief when the tank’s health jumped back up. 

“Jeez, thanks Angel. All right, here it comes!”

Cas smiled—it always gave him a warm, fluttery feeling in his stomach when Ryder thanked him by name. He tried to ignore it, though, as the fight continued, and the fireball came crashing down. Suddenly, two were dead, then two more. Shouts erupted on voice chat: 

“Oh, come on!”

“That was right on the raid!”

“Res me, Thors!”

“Damn,” Castiel said aloud, then ducked his head and pushed his earphones askew to listen for his mom. When he heard nothing, he put the cans back on in time to hear Ryder call it a wipe[5]. One by one the survivors were stomped by the boss until the whole raid was dead and the boss disappeared. 

The chat was quiet as Castiel started the long ghost run back to the room near the top of the castle. Eventually Ryder's voice came through. “Great work, guys. That was a solid attempt. Really fuckin’ bad luck with the fireball, though. We'll have another go on Wednesday, right?”

Meg spoke up, “Yeah, maybe Kevin can avoid the fire this time—”

“Shut up, Meg!” Kevin replied, loud in Castiel's ears. There were several exclamations of “Whoa!” and “Jesus, Kevin!” before Ryder stepped in. 

“Okay okay, yes, maybe Kevin can work on movement while casting before then? Until then, can you keep it in your pants please, Meg?”

There were murmurs of agreement and a few disappointed good nights, and as people teleported back to wherever they called home in Moondoor, they dropped off the voice server. 

Castiel stood idle in the trade hall of the Queen of Moons stronghold, picking through his inventory. He enjoyed this peaceful time after raids, although it wasn't quite as chill as usual considering their trouble with this particular boss. 

He'd been telling Ryder for weeks that they should try with three healers, but for some reason the tank was reluctant to try it. 

He sat back, shaking his head. Over the year since Ryder had joined their guild and started leading their raids, he'd learned how stubborn the guy could be. He leaned over to grab his portable speaker, plugging it into his iPod and setting it up on his desk. He scrolled through until he found Evanescence’s “Bring Me To Life”, nodding along when the beat started. It was already set to shuffle, so it could play for hours if he stayed up that long.

A message popped up in his chat window, chiming in his earphones. 

> Niteryder: hey man, you want to do shorc dailies? 

Castiel's breath caught for a moment. Ryder usually did daily quests[6] with their guild leader, Charlie, but she’d logged out right after the raid. He'd asked Cas to join him once or twice, but Cas usually ended up doing them on his own. An odd flutter of excitement hit him—he was pleased to have company this time.

> Thorsangel: Sure. Heading there now. 

God, did that sound too eager? He honestly hadn't been in the middle of anything, but didn't want to look like he was desperate. 

> Niteryder: kk

Castiel portalled to Hammergate, the neutral city nearest to the Shadow Orc area. He was only at the city’s eponymous gate for a few moments when another toon[7] appeared on his screen—a female warrior with chunky armor and an oversized sword. She started jumping around him in a circle, her long ponytail flicking around behind her. He'd never been sure why Ryder had chosen a female character to play, but she was as familiar as the raid leader's voice, now.

Cas smiled, once again pleased Ryder couldn't really see him in person. He was sure his face was warm. He made his toon wave at Ryder, then sent a group request. 

> [Group] Niteryder: how many dailies you got today?  
>  [Group] Thorsangel: all of them :(  
>  [Group] Niteryder: np, we'll blast thru :) 

Heading out towards where the first quest was located, they picked up a few of the items they had to gather for one quest along the way. Without saying a word, they started to methodically clear the area of shadow orc NPCs[8], waiting for a key to drop. 

> [Group] Niteryder: You going trick or treating on tues? 

Castiel blinked at his screen. He'd forgotten all about Halloween, although he should have guessed from all the Samhain celebrating going on in the Queen’s stronghold in game. And he rarely left the house on weekends, except when his mom dragged him to church, and she wasn't exactly celebrating Halloween. 

Also, he was seventeen. Who went trick or treating when they were a junior in high school? 

> [Group] Thorsangel: Just how young do you think I am? No I am not trick or treating :-P

He considered for a moment, wondering if he could have been wrong about Ryder's age. But he was sure Charlie was a junior too, or at most a year older. 

> [Group] Thorsangel: Why, are you? 

They killed a few more orcs and completed another of the quests before Ryder replied. 

> [Group] Niteryder: you wanna go back on the voice chat? It's a little hard to type all this while fighting

_If only I could_. Castiel rubbed a hand over his face, then jumped back to the keyboard when he noticed Ryder had moved forward without him. 

When they were in a safe space again, he replied. 

> [Group] Thorsangel: i can get on, but I won't be able to talk. My mom's sleeping. 

He doubted that was actually true, but he was reluctant to share the real reason he couldn't chat out aloud. 

> [Group] Niteryder: kk. I'm on. 

Castiel connected the voice chat program. Ryder's voice came through loud and clear over the top of the Death Cab For Cutie song that was now playing on the iPod, and he smiled as he heard, “Hey, Angel.” He typed out his reply.

> [Group] Thorsangel: Hello :)

Ryder huffed, then said, “This is kind of weird, me just talking. You can’t chat?”

> [Group] Thorsangel: I really can’t. Got to keep quiet.

Ryder was quiet for a few moments while they got back to clearing up the fires for one of the quests, then he must have noticed the chat message because he suddenly said, “Oh, okay. Your mom work nights or something?”

Okay, he was starting to get into difficult territory here. He really didn’t want to be talking about his mom.

> [Group] Thorsangel: No, but she likes quiet.

“Are you in a different timezone or something? I have no idea where you live.” Ryder gave a little chuckle that sent fire racing along Castiel’s skin. He’d never heard Ryder like this—it was usually in the heat of a raid when he was barking orders. In fact, Castiel’s crush on the raid leader had solidified when he first heard his smooth, strong voice explaining a boss encounter. He’d first called him Angel during that raid, and even the memory of it made him smile.

> [Group] Thorsangel: I’m in Illinois.

“Illinois, huh? I’m in Lawrence, Kansas.”

Castiel blinked at the screen, but the words were still there when he looked again. He needed to stop talking to Ryder. Just his luck to make friends with someone from the one town in the whole country he had moved away from. He must know Meg, that’s why he was in the guild. 

Making friends with Ryder was dangerous, but there was something about the guy that Castiel found irresistible. There was no way he was backing out of this now.

> [Group] Thorsangel: So are you going trick or treating? 

Ryder laughed, and didn't that send a thrill through Castiel? “My brother is only thirteen. He hates Halloween so I'm making him go trick or treating to cure him of it.”

> [Group] Thorsangel: your brother is moosetrax, right? 

“Yep, that's Sammy. Don't ask me where he got Moosetrax from, the little weirdo.”

> [Group] Thorsangel: lol

They followed the quests around the area, until Ryder spoke up, “Hey Angel, give me a hand over here?” The use of the nickname even outside of a raid made his heart skip a beat. He caught up with where Ryder had collected a few orcs and was gradually being overwhelmed by them, then healed him quickly. They made a good team for this. 

He had called him Angel again… He had to ask. 

> [Group] Thorsangel: hey ryder, why do you call me that?

He pressed enter before having second thoughts, wincing while he waited for a reply.

He'd used this character name for years now, based on his given name—he was named for the angel of Thursday, and if he happened to like comics featuring a certain God of Thunder, what of it? Most of the guild called him Thor or Thors, but Ryder had always called him Angel, and it made him very happy. 

“What, Angel? I dunno, I guess it suits you? With your healing and those wings? I'll stop if you don't like it.”

Castiel could feel his face warming again. The wings were an effect of an enchantment Castiel had been excited to get on his armor ever since he'd heard of it—making great, black wings sprout out of his character's back, flex, then fade away again every few minutes. 

> [Group] Thorsangel: no, I don't mind :)

“Okay.”

Castiel could hear the smile in his voice, and he felt warm all over this time. 

A polite tap on the door snapped his attention away, and he quickly alt-tabbed to another window. As his door opened, he was thankful it was his biology homework on the screen now and not the strategy guide videos he'd been watching earlier. 

“Hey, sweetie,” Castiel's mom said as she came into the room carrying a basket of clean laundry. 

He murmured, “Hey,” as he pulled off his earphones, replacing the sound of Dashboard Confessional with an uneasy silence. 

She dropped the clean, mostly-black clothes on his bed, and turned back towards him. “How'd your test go today?”

Castiel looked up at her earnest face. Becky Novak never failed to try to tease Castiel's day out of him, and it annoyed the hell out of him most of the time, but today it looked like he wouldn't be getting rid of her so easily. 

He shrugged. “All right.”

“Just all right?” she asked, smiling. 

“It was fine, Mom. I'm studying, see?” Castiel gestured to his screen, the biology homework half-done. He frowned as he realized he would have to finish it before going to bed. 

Castiel's mom nodded and moved closer, grabbing him around the head and planting a kiss on his forehead. “I love you—you know that, right?” She hugged his head tightly and he struggled out of her grip. She was surprisingly strong for a small woman. 

“Jeez, Mom… I love you too, whatever. Can you go away and let me finish this now?” he said, rolling his eyes for good measure. 

He knew his mom was worried about his grades. They hadn't been quite as good for the last couple of years since they'd moved from Kansas to Pontiac, Illinois. The move had been hard on both of them, since they essentially had new identities as part of their protection program. 

Castiel's father's reveal-all article in the _Kansas City Times_ might have led to one of the biggest crime ring busts in recent memory, but it had affected their lives on a profound level. When the kingpin of that ring, Alastair Ivy, had been let out on bail after ten years in jail, Chuck and his family had been forced to flee for their lives. The lead up to the release had not been easy on the family, and Chuck and Becky's marriage had not survived. Castiel's brother Gabriel had gone to Europe, but he was old enough to take care of himself there. Castiel had been fourteen. 

So here they were, just Castiel and his mom. Hiding from a world that could conceal a monster at any turn, stuck until the bad guys were found. It sucked. 

Castiel's mom let go of him and sighed. “I've got an early meeting tomorrow. You'll be okay to get to school?”

Castiel raised one eyebrow as he shoved his long fringe out of his face. “Yes, Mom. I'll be fine.”

She left, closing the door behind her. 

Castiel shook his head. That had been weird. 

He replaced his earphones and flicked back to the Moondoor window, grinning at the messages from Ryder waiting for him. He should probably log off and finish his homework. Eh, maybe a few more quests first. 

_November 2, 2006_

The history class dragged. A clock ticked, the second hand sullenly making its way up the back thirty. Dean watched raindrops run down the windowpane as the teacher droned on and on about some founding father or other. 

He wasn’t even sure why he was taking this dumb class, anyway. What use did he have for history, when all he would be doing when he finished school was working at Bobby’s shop? But his mom had insisted, so here he was. Just a few more minutes, then a couple hours at the shop, then he would be home free. He didn’t have to raid tonight, but perhaps he could do a dungeon with Charlie, or chat with Angel again. Since last week when they’d done dailies together, he’d been enjoying spending time chatting with him each night, but he still didn’t really know anything about him, apart from the fact that he lived in Illinois. Occasionally he wouldn’t be on until late because he was working, but he wouldn’t say what he actually did for work. Hell, the way he spoke he could be a forty-year-old guy, and Dean would never have a clue. He didn’t think Angel sounded like someone still living in his mom’s basement, but you never could tell.

The bell rang loudly, shaking him from his stupor. He wasn’t aware of hearing anything Mr. Fitzgerald had said, but he hoped some of it had filtered in.

As he headed out of the classroom, someone nudged him hard in the side. 

“Hey, you coming to the mall?” Lisa Braeden looked up at him, smiling and fluttering her eyelashes. 

Dean smiled back at her. She was gorgeous, in a girl-next-door way. “Wish I could, sweetheart, but I have to work. Next time.”

“Oh, too bad. Catch you later, Dean.” She walked off to join two of her friends, who were smirking into their schoolbags. Oh, he wished he could join them. 

When Dean turned to head for his locker, he saw Benny leaning against his own locker door, staring wistfully away down the corridor. Dean approached him, but his friend didn’t even notice him. 

“Hey, Benny. What gives?” Dean opened his locker and dumped his books.

Benny sighed dramatically. “It’s Andrea. She walks past and… I’m a puddle. What’s wrong with me, brother?”

Dean slammed his locker shut and shouldered his bag. “Dude, quit fucking around and ask her out. I can almost smell the sex on you already. It’s disgusting.” He wrinkled his nose, then laughed as Benny shoved him in the shoulder. 

“Shut up. I’ll ask her out when you get it on with Lisa.”

Dean smirked. “Who says I haven’t already? Huh?” Of course he hadn’t, but after that display this afternoon he was pretty sure Lisa would be up for it. If he ever got a chance to go out with her. Work had been kicking his butt lately. 

“Sure, brother. Pretty sure I would have heard all about it if that were the case,” Benny chuckled. He gave Dean a casual salute. “I'll catch you later.” 

Dean clapped Benny on the shoulder. “See ya tomorrow.”

Castiel opened his locker, stuffing his English books into his bag. The corridor was busy after the final bell for the day, and the press of people was making his heart race. He carefully checked his eyeliner in the tiny mirror in the front pocket of his bag, then attempted to flatten his hair down on top. 

It was no use. His stupid hair was longer than ear-length now, sticking out like a fucking haystack. He sighed, shouldering his bag and closing the locker until it clicked. He’d only chosen this look after he started getting into emo music and found himself lusting after the lead singer of My Chemical Romance, with his dark locks and smouldering eyes. He’d latched onto emo fashion as a complete change from his previous life, and although he never meant for it to become a disguise, he found people overlooked him when he was just another emo kid lurking in the background. Being dark and troubled kept people away from him, which was kind of how he liked it. His mom hadn’t been over the moon about his new look, but at the time he hadn't really cared.

He trudged down the row of lockers, heading for the main door and wishing he didn’t have to go to work this afternoon—he’d rather finish his homework and jump into Moondoor for the night, but he’d only had the job for a couple months so he might as well show up.

A loud bang on the other side of the corridor made him jump and stop in his tracks. Efram, a tall senior kid, had his arm across Hannah’s path, preventing her from leaving. Castiel still didn’t know many people at this school—he’d avoided making friends since coming here—but Hannah was in some of his classes. She was the class nerd most of the time—he’d hardly seen her be friendly with anyone, but right now she looked terrified. 

“You’re with me, you got it? I don’t wanna see you talking to that slimy asshole again,” Efram sneered. 

Hannah nodded, a jerky movement. Efram ran his hand over her hair and she swallowed visibly, then looked out from under his arm and locked eyes with Castiel for a moment. Castiel didn’t dare move. She looked mortified.

Efram leaned in to say something quietly to her, then kissed her cheek. He turned abruptly and stalked towards Castiel, who hurriedly looked to the floor, letting his hair fall over his eyes as he moved forward along the corridor. 

When he glanced up at where Hannah had been standing, she was already gone. 

He’d never really spoken with Hannah before, but he should have said something, shouldn’t he? No, it was better not to get involved. Stay beneath notice, hidden. 

The chill afternoon air bit at his cheeks as he stepped outside and headed for the Pontiac Public Library, an imposing brick building just up the street from the school. His bag got dumped in the small break room and he headed out to grab a reshelving trolley without speaking to anyone, heading into the nonfiction shelves. He stopped in front of the 800s, scanning for a particular book.

It was only when he had Mary Oliver’s _Why I Wake Early_ in his hands that he sighed out the tension he’d been feeling since the drama at the lockers.

Castiel opened to a random page and tried to let the beautiful words soothe him. He leaned against the shelf, the neat rows of books on literature in precise order after he'd reshelved several of them just yesterday. This particular collection of poetry was so full of life, a celebration of the beauty in the world, that he was considering using his first paycheck to buy a copy for himself. 

He sighed. At first it had been easy to blend into a new school, the new guy no one wanted to make friends with. The invisible emo kid at the back of the room, uninteresting, ignored. Now that he was a couple of years on, though, the anonymity was starting to wear thin. He hated having to hide—resented having to change himself to avoid someone else. 

He read and re-read the page long after the words stopped making sense.

“Hey, Chuckles.” The oily voice of Castiel's boss, Marv, broke him out of his thoughts. The man was at least a foot shorter than him, and unpleasantly full of his own importance. 

Castiel frowned as he looked up at Marv. 

Marv’s face twisted into a sneer. “Look, Jimmy. I'm willing to overlook your hair, and…” he gestured to Castiel's face, “face paint, and morbid dress sense, but I'm not paying you to stand here and read. Less reading, more shelving. Get to it.”

Castiel dropped his eyes to the trolley of books to be reshelved, letting his hair fall across his face. He'd been so excited to get this job at the library, but so far the only things Marv had let him do were things the supervisor obviously felt were beneath him—mostly reshelving and cleaning. Castiel couldn't complain, though. He loved books, and he was pleased to be earning some extra cash. 

“Sorry, Marv.” He turned away and carefully placed the book in the shelf behind him, attempting to let go his annoyance on a long breath. 

His life in Pontiac wasn’t great, but it wasn’t all bad. The whole thing still felt temporary, even though it had been so long since they'd moved here—like they were only here for a break and he'd be moving back to Lawrence any day now. The chances of that were so slim, though. He counted the library as his safe haven—the only place he could finally relax. Among the shelves, he was home. At least until he'd started actually working here and Marv constantly ruined it. 

The guy had disappeared through the shelves now, but Castiel still turned away from the poetry and headed further into the stacks with his trolley. 

A half-hour after leaving school, Dean was standing in the workshop at Singer’s Auto, blue overalls on and up to his elbows in an oil change on a beat-up old Dodge.

Someone wandered into the garage. Dean identified Ed by the way he grunted when he saw Dean leaning over the engine. “‘Bout time you showed up, Winchester. I got another oil change for you when you're done there.”

Dean wanted to comment on the fact that he'd come straight from school, but held his tongue. Ed Trenton could be an asshole at the best of times, and a douchebag the rest. 

Instead he mumbled, “Yes sir,” and kept his eyes on the job. It wasn't worth biting. 

Ed grunted again and shuffled away to the other side of the workshop, where Bobby had a desk and filing cabinet set up. He affectionately called the area his “office”. 

Ed spoke as he neared Bobby, loud enough for Dean to hear. “I dunno why you keep that boy, Bobby. He's never here.”

“He's gotta go to school, Ed. Just like Cole.” Bobby sounded tired. Dean knew he'd had his argument with Ed before, when Ed questioned why Dean was bothering with a high school diploma. Dean knew Ed just sore because Bobby had offered Dean the work instead of Ed’s son, Cole, who also happened to be a sanctimonious douche. He guessed the genes ran true.

Ed and Bobby chattered away about a job, and Dean let his mind wander. This was his peaceful space—working on an engine, or tinkering with wire and random bits of stuff in his room at home—he could just let go and relax. That, and playing the game. There were areas in Moondoor he liked to go to just to sit and quietly listen to the soundtrack, although he never let anyone know that. He had just been in the Whispering Glade last night, actually, when Angel had sent him a message. 

And he was back thinking about Angel again. He wondered how the guy kept appearing in his head, but because the things he knew about him were so limited, all he was left with was a burning curiosity. He'd never met anyone online who was so uptight about their identity, and it made him wonder if he shouldn't have been more careful with his own name or where he lived. He was fairly sure none of his guildies were psychopaths. Well, he wasn't quite sure about Meg, but 90 percent of them probably weren't axe murderers. 

Carefully moving the full oil pan to one side, he got up to fetch the new container from the storage shelves. Would asking Angel a few pointed questions break his rules? He decided to try to push the boundaries later tonight when he got a chance. Hopefully he wouldn't lose their fledgling friendship over it. 

An hour later, Bobby surprised Dean by appearing next to him, leaning on the side of the car he was working on.

“Bobby?” he asked, straightening up. 

“At ease, soldier. I just wanted to make sure Ed wasn't giving you grief earlier.”

Dean blinked, wondering how much Bobby had heard. “Nah, it's fine. I'm good.” He leaned back in and rubbed the rag he’d been cleaning up with over the metal parts of the engine.

Bobby kept talking. “Don't let him talk down to you, all right? He's a tough ol’ coot but that's no excuse for bein’ rude.”

Dean nodded. Bobby could come across as gruff, but now and then he surprised Dean. He straightened up again, looking down at Bobby. “Thanks.”

Bobby nodded as well, eyeing him for a moment. “You okay, boy? You gettin’ sleep? You look kinda pale.”

Dean huffed and ducked back under the hood. “Jesus, Bobby, what is this? Guantanamo?”

“Just checkin’ in,” Bobby said, defensively. “Why don't you get outta here after you're done there.”

He moved away as Dean called, “Thanks.” He wavered between being pissed at Bobby for bugging him, and thankful that he was looking out for him. He could look after his own damn self, though. He was gonna be seventeen in a couple months, for fuck’s sake. He hadn't been a kid since his dad died when he was four and Sammy was just a baby. 

He tidied up what he was working on and waved to Bobby and Ed, ducking quickly out to avoid Ed’s disapproving glare. What was that guy’s fucking problem, anyway? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: _Why I Wake Early_ by Mary Oliver (1935-2019). The world is now a less bright place.  
>  
> 
> Notes:  
> 1 two stacks: Niteryder is the main tank, the player who takes all the hits from the boss. Some raid encounters involve the boss putting a stacking effect on the tank, which either deals damage or reduces defences. The two tanks in the team need to swap positions once a certain number of stacks is reached, to allow the effect to be dispelled.  [ return to text ]
> 
> 2 raid: A raid is a group of organised players ranging from 10-25 members, with complimentary abilities and skills. The tank keeps the boss focused, while the healers keep the tank (and the rest of the raid) alive. The DPS (Damage per second, named for the measure of their effectiveness), are the players that deal the damage to the boss.  [ return to text ]
> 
> 3 DPS: Damage Per Second--the damage-dealing players.  [ return to text ]
> 
> 4 Cooldowns: Large healing spells that can require a period of time to recharge before they can be used again.  [ return to text ]
> 
> 5 Wipe: A wipe is called when too many of the team have died, or something has gone wrong with the strategy. Healers stop healing and everyone dies, ready to try again.  [ return to text ]
> 
> 6 Daily quests can be completed each day, usually for a gradual increase in reputation with an in-game faction, or for progression towards a higher goal. Ryder's "shorc dailies" are the daily quests given in the Shadow Orc area.  [ return to text ]
> 
> 7 toon: a player’s on-screen character.  [ return to text ]
> 
> 8 NPCs: Non-Player Characters. Characters controlled by the game rather than a real person. Can be friendly or unfriendly.  [ return to text ]


	2. Chapter 2

_November 2, 2006_

Castiel cursed under his breath as Meg came running back, a trail of Shadow Orcs following. Now that he'd been doing dailies with Ryder for the last couple of weeks, he was finding it hard to adjust back into Meg's method of rounding the NPCs up and mowing them down with AOE[9] spells. It may have been slightly faster than Ryder's method, but it meant Castiel spent his whole time spamming her with heals, gulping down mana potions between fights. 

> [Group] Thorsangel: gimme sec, need mana[10]

He huffed his frustration as she kept on pulling, obviously not seeing the message. He healed her as best he could, but soon his mana ran dry. Without healing, she didn't last long against the orcs, and neither did he. 

> [Group] Demoneyes: wtf c?  
>  [Group] Thorsangel: you didn't let me drink  
>  [Group] Demoneyes: crap. why dint u say? 

Castiel sighed as he made it back to his corpse, healing himself back up once he’d resurrected. He missed the soothing pace of doing these runs with Ryder, his low voice in Castiel’s ear. The last time they'd spoken, Ryder had told him he was working today, so he wouldn’t be on until late. Castiel had also worked this afternoon at the library—more shelving and tidying. This evening he’d spent another half hour after clock-off time listening to Marv wax lyrical about the book he was planning to write, and Castiel had decided he’d rather stick pins in his eyes rather than read whatever crap Marv put down on the page. Unfortunately the chances were that if Marv ever did manage to write something, Castiel would have to be the one to have to read it. Great. 

Since Ryder wouldn’t be on until later, he’d grouped up with Meg out of desperation when he’d logged on—he really hated doing these dailies on his own. Maybe he could catch up with Ryder later on.

He'd known Meg since first grade and he loved her like a sister, but until now he'd forgotten just how intense she could be. They hadn't seen each other in person for months—she'd come to visit him on the last summer vacation, but since then she'd been busy with work and school, and hadn't been playing as much. Today, Castiel was finding her hard to keep up with.

> [Group] Thorsangel: Meg, are you ok?  
>  [Group] Demoneyes: yep, fine. Why? 

Castiel sat back, considering how to word it. He had to be careful, or she'd just shut down and log out. It wouldn't be the first time. 

> [Group] Thorsangel: You’re just kind of single minded, I guess? Everything ok? 

The reply took a little while to come through. 

> [Group] Demoneyes: I'm fine, clarence. Not sleeping well, i'm a little frazzed, but fine  
>  [Group] Demoneyes: what's wrong, you missing your new bf? :-P

Castiel sighed again. Clarence was her code name for him, and she mostly only used it if she was annoyed. He had known she would be like this about Ryder, though. He'd considered not mentioning that he'd been grouping with him, but she'd been online last night when they'd been together so he couldn't avoid the questions. He still hadn't admitted his crush to her—it was just too awkward—but it seemed she was connecting the dots. 

> [Group] Thorsangel: yeah right, he’s not that.  
>  [Group] Demoneyes: sure  
>  [Group] Thorsangel: What? I like playing with him. He’s a nice guy. He’s the kind of player who’s so good you want to play well to impress them.  
>  [Group] Demoneyes: Hah, I think that’s just you.

Castiel sat back, taking his hands off the keyboard. Was it just him who wanted to impress Ryder? He’d known he had a crush for a long time, but now that he was actually friendly with the guy...

He clicked over to the guild chat for a moment and saw that Ryder had logged in while they'd been fighting. He was currently in the Warrior kingdom, probably doing dailies there if Castiel had to guess. He didn't want to interrupt him, but the thought of not getting to speak to him tonight made Castiel's chest ache. 

He snapped his eyes up to see Meg heading back with another batch of orcs. He clicked over to the group chat window, and jumped back on the keyboard when he saw Meg’s message.

> [Group] Demoneyes: dude, heal! 

A little later, the quests were done and Castiel and Meg had portalled back to the Queen’s Stronghold. Meg chatted away as Castiel emptied his bags. 

> [Group] Demoneyes: hey, before I forget again, are you doing anything at new years?  
>  [Group] Thorsangel: not that I know of. 

They'd tried to get together for New Year's Eve each year since he had moved away, but hadn't managed it yet. His mom usually had some party planned that he had to attend. This year, though, he was seventeen. She had to let him do his own thing now, right? He knew how to keep his head down. 

> [Group] Demoneyes: my mom's going to europe or some shit and i get to stay home. Wanna come keep me company?  
>  [Group] Thorsangel: I might be able to do that. Let me go ask the boss. I need a drink anyway. Brb

As well as asking his mom, he'd also have to ask his actual boss. He was pretty sure the library would be closed over the New Year week, but there was a chance Marv would have some torture prepared for him while borrowers weren't around. 

He got up, removed his earphones and stretched, then made sure to hide the Moondoor window behind an old school assignment, just in case. He grabbed a glass of water on his way past the kitchen. 

Out in the living room, his mom had their cat, Bastet, sleeping on her lap as she sat on the couch, watching some documentary. Castiel could hear the furball purring from where he stood next to the couch.

Castiel waited until a commercial before interrupting her. “Mom?” he ventured quietly. 

“Oh, hi Jimmy! What’s up?”

Castiel flinched. He hated it when she called him by his fake name, even after nearly three years. He resisted an urge to roll his eyes. He was trying to get her to agree to something, not antagonize. “I was just chatting with Meg…” He stopped when he took in his mom's wide eyes. “We were exchanging emails, not actually chatting. Anyway she said her mom is going away over New Year, so I might go to stay with her.”

“She invited you? Does Eve know about it?” Meg’s mom, Eve, had been good friends with Becky back in Lawrence, but Castiel was pretty sure they didn’t talk anymore.

He shrugged, watching the images on the TV without actually taking them in. “I guess?”

His mom sighed. “I’m just not sure this is a good idea, going back to Lawrence like that. What if someone recognizes you?” She looked terrified by the prospect, even though the chances were slim of a sighting ever getting to the people they were actually trying to avoid.

“I’ll be fine, Mom. I look totally different to back then. And I won’t go out of my way to see anyone—Meg and I can just stay at home and watch DVDs or something.”

His mom looked him over, like she was cataloguing the ways he’d changed over the last few years. “I'll give Eve a call and make sure she's okay with it.” Meg’s mom was pretty hands-off—she’d be fine with it.

Castiel moved forward to perch on the arm of the other chair, as his mom continued, “How will you get there?”

“Bus? Last time seemed to worked pretty well.” The bus trip from Lawrence to Pontiac had been long and Meg had complained bitterly the whole time she'd been visiting, but it had been the cheapest and easiest way. 

His mom looked unsure for a moment, then said, “You'll be here for Christmas, right?”

Castiel nodded. “I guess so. The library will be open right up to the twenty-fourth.”

“Okay. Because… I think your father might be here.”

Castiel blinked. 

“Dad… He's coming here?” A hollow feeling was developing in his gut. “How’d he even find us?”

“I have no idea, but he called last night.” His mom didn't sound mad or worried about it—mostly tired. 

“And… you're okay with this?” Castiel couldn't believe it. They’d tried so hard to keep their location secret, even from Chuck. 

His mom looked back towards the TV, where the commercials had finished and the documentary was starting again. “He wants to see us.”

“Well, I'll tell her I'll come after Christmas, then.” 

His mom just hummed in agreement, absorbed by the TV again, so Castiel stood up and started backing towards the door. “Night, Mom,” he murmured. 

Before he walked out the door, his mom called, “Jimmy?” 

He turned, looking back over his shoulder.

“I know you're chatting with Meg, not emailing.”

Shame swept through him. He'd promised his mom long ago to stay away from online socializing, but emails just weren't quite the same. He began, “I—” but his mom cut him off. 

“It's fine. I know how much you miss her. Just be careful, okay?” She gave a thin smile, and Castiel unfroze. She was really okay with this? 

“Thanks, Mom. And I am being careful, I promise.”

Back in his room, he replaced his earphones and considered what he'd just learned. His mom might be okay with him chatting with Meg, but he should probably keep Moondoor on the down-low for now. 

And his father… He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Chuck had been absent for a lot of Castiel’s childhood, chasing down some lead for a story or other. He and his mom had both been heartbroken when they'd separated and he'd moved away, and they hadn’t heard from him at all since their move to Pontiac. If he was coming back to see them now… Who knew what he wanted? Although Castiel had missed him like crazy at times after he had left them, right now he resented the idea that he could just show up and expect to be a part of their lives again. 

When he clicked over to the game window, he saw Ryder had messaged him fifteen minutes previously. 

> Niteryder: hey man, you wanna run Hammergate Keep with me and Charlie? 

Another message below was timestamped a few minutes later. 

> Niteryder: last chance, wanna come?  
>  Niteryder: okay… let me know if you wanna run after. 

They would have only just started the dungeon run but Castiel didn't really feel like playing right now. He was jittery, unsettled. He quickly typed out a message to Ryder, then another one to Meg. 

To Ryder:

> Thorsangel: thanks, but I'm not feeling well. Going to log. See ya. 

Then to Meg:

> Thorsangel: my dad's coming for christmas :( I’ll come after that, but now I'm off.

He logged out before any replies came back. He didn't really want to deal with anyone right now. He unplugged the earphones from the PC and put them into his electric keyboard next to his desk, instead. There was nothing that angry playing couldn't fix. 

He picked up the pile of sheet music under his desk and flicked through to his book of collected Ben Folds Five songs. There was something about belting out “Song for the Dumped” that soothed the soul. Although he might have to play one of the quieter songs after this to calm him down before he tried to sleep. 

He let the strong chords beat the pain and confusion out of him. If his dad wanted to see him, whatever. He didn't have to talk to him, or engage. Let him try to come back into Castiel's life. He wouldn't let him. 

“Sammy… what the hell? Did you just fall off the edge again?” Dean stared at the screen, scanning along the ledge where his brother’s toon was definitely no longer standing. 

Sam's voice came from behind him rather than his headset, as they both played on the PCs in their computer room. “Sorry! I stood too close and got shoved back by the adds[11]. I'll run back.” 

“Well the healer’s not going to be able to reach you there, so you better run.” He sighed. This healer they'd picked up was terrible—constantly out of mana, letting people die all the time.

When he'd got home, Sammy had been playing the latest Grand Theft Auto on the Playstation in the living room. Dean had stopped to watch the character jump out of the car and gun down a bunch of people on the sidewalk. He snorted. “Mom know you're playing this?”

His brother shrugged without looking away from the screen and made a non-committal noise, and his character jumped back in the car to speed away. 

Dean had sighed, and told Sammy he'd run dungeons with him on Moondoor after dinner. 

Dinner had been meatloaf and soggy vegetables, eaten in front of the news his mom liked to watch so much. There was an election about to happen and Dean was getting sick of the sight of President Bush, but his mom kept it on anyway. Dean had always loved his mom’s meatloaf, and had been devastated to learn a few years ago that she’d always bought it from the Piggly Wiggly in town. Dean had hurried through his meal and dumped his plate in the kitchen, jumping on the PC as soon as he could. 

But Angel had been already online, and doing quests with Meg. He couldn't explain the sour feeling that now sat heavy in his gut. It wasn't like he had any claim over the guy, but he'd been looking forward to talking with him. And now this awful healer was making this dungeon run harder than it had to be. 

He missed Angel. 

As though Dean had summoned him, Angel came back from being afk and sent him a message. 

> Thorsangel: thanks, but I'm not feeling well. Going to log. See ya. 

Before he could reply, Angel logged off. Dean blinked at the logout message, wondering if he was okay. Actually, he'd been playing with Meg earlier. Maybe she knew. 

Dean didn't often chat with Meg—she wasn't on much these days and didn't raid with them, but he saw her around at school. She was the reason he was in this guild in the first place, when they'd randomly sat together in math class and he’d watched her doodle Moondoor logos all over her book. 

First he had to finish this damn dungeon, though. Sam was back, but just as they moved forward to engage the next group of enemies, their mom popped her head around the door frame. 

“Sammy? What are you doing still up? You've got school tomorrow!”

Sam didn't look away from the screen as he replied with a whine, “But Mom! Dean gets to stay up!”

“Yes, well, he should be going to bed as well, but he's not thirteen. Now come on, off, please.”

Dean spoke up, hoping his voice sounded less whiny than his brother's. “Can't we just have a few minutes to finish what we're doing? This is the end.”

Their mom sighed. “All right, but straight to bed after that, okay?”

“Yup,” Sam muttered as they concentrated on taking the final boss down. 

Sammy might be an annoying little brother sometimes, but he was actually crazy good at the game most of the time. His DPS[12] was up there with the best of the mages, but he wasn't allowed to raid with the guild. Dean had no idea why she was so hung up on Sam getting to bed on time, but at least she didn’t bug Dean about it anymore.

Sam pushed his chair back, yawning. 

“See you in the morning, bitch,” Dean said without turning away from his screen. 

Sam grumbled, “Night, jerk.”

Dean was already typing a message to Meg.

> Niteryder: hey Meg  
>  Demoneyes: Dean! Howr u? Got ur english done? 

Shit, the assignment. He still had a couple of days to write about _The Great Gatsby_. How hard could it be? 

> Niteryder: ha yeah, not yet

He paused. He didn't feel right using the nickname “Angel” with Meg. He was pretty sure she and Angel had known each other for a long while. 

> Niteryder: hey, you know why Thors took off earlier? Said he wasn't feeling well.  
>  Demoneyes: he got some bad news. It's sweet that ur worried about him, tho. 

Dean snorted. Nothing sweet about it, he just wanted to know how his friend was doing. Why was that sweet? He frowned, confused for a moment, until another message appeared.

> Demoneyes: u doing anything for new years?  
>  Niteryder: that’s a whole month away. Don’t think so, why?  
>  Demoneyes: ur coming to a party at my place.

Dean huffed out a surprised laugh. He liked Meg—she was a little abrupt at times but he wasn’t sure he wanted to get that well acquainted with her. 

> Demoneyes: Loads of ppl from school will be there  
>  Demoneyes: I promise it will be worth ur while.

Dean snorted. Just what exactly did she have planned?

> Niteryder: Okay, i’ll come along. Alright if i bring benny?  
>  Demoneyes: sure bring as many as you like. My mom’s gonna be out of town.  
>  Niteryder: sure, ok

Sammy was gonna be mad at him for not spending the new year together, but hey, he was sixteen, nearly seventeen now. They weren't going to be able to do stuff together forever.

He said goodnight to Meg and the guild and logged off, picking up his wire work-in-progress and the needle-nose pliers. Heading into his room, he grabbed his iPod and dialed up some Led Zeppelin, then flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling for a few moments. 

He wasn't sure what was going on with Angel, but he'd really missed talking with him tonight. They'd run dailies or dungeons together most nights they weren't raiding, Dean sharing random stories from school or stuff he and Sam got up to, or him and Benny. Angel just made witty comments and hardly shared anything, although he was a lot more chatty now than he had been a few months ago. 

Dean picked up the wire creation and fiddled with it. It had morphed into a roughly humanoid shape this time, with arms and legs that could be moved carefully to different positions. He turned it over, hoping that Angel was all right. What was the bad news he'd gotten today? Maybe someone in his life was sick? Or he might have got a bad grade at school or something. He wished he had some other way of contacting him. 

The back of the figure had enough room for some more wire, he thought. Perhaps he could make some wings, attach them just behind the shoulders. He could give it to Angel for Christmas, if he knew his address. It struck him that he didn't even know if Angel was a guy. He froze for a moment while he considered the possibility. His toon was male, but that didn’t mean anything—he played a female character himself, after all. No, no, Meg had definitely referred to him as “he” earlier. 

He blew out a breath, pleased that his world had stayed right-way-up. Rolling to the side, he picked up the spare wire and started bending it into a tight curve. _Because_ , he thought idly, _if Angel had been a girl…_

He shook his head. It had obviously been too long since he'd seen any action. It had been what, six, seven months since he broke up with Cassie? For a while there he'd been too heartbroken to hook up with anyone. Sure, there had been a few secret kisses behind the science block, but nothing serious. And he certainly wasn't _into_ dudes. They were nice to look at sometimes, and sure, he had got a bit tight in the jeans looking at Doctor Sexy, but hey, the Doc was a good looking guy. Everyone got that when they were sixteen, right? 

He tried to distract himself from this disturbing train of thought by concentrating on attaching the wire wings to the back of the figure. If he held it wrong, the whole thing could collapse and he'd have to start over. He carefully threaded thin wire under the weave of the back and pulled it tight, then turned the sculpture around. Yes, he was happy with it. He'd just have to ask Angel how he could get it to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9 AOE: Area Of Effect--a spell that affects an area around the target, maybe a rain of fire, or ice, or a spreading effect on the ground, effective for damaging lots of enemies at once.  [ return to text ]
> 
> 10 Mana is the energy used to cast spells. If you have no mana left, you can't cast anything. Drinks restore mana in Moondoor (only non-alcoholic ones, sadly).  [ return to text ]
> 
> 11 adds: Additional attacking NPCs that make battles more difficult (for the healer, usually). [ return to text ]
> 
> 12 DPS: Damage Per Second, a measure of damage done to enemies. Sometimes known as dick-measuring. [ return to text ]


	3. Chapter 3

_November 23, 2006_

The raid on the evening of Thanksgiving did not go well. Not only did most of the main team not show up due to family stuff, but the players they picked up to fill in were dreadful. 

Castiel sat in the stronghold after they'd failed to get down the boss again. Korn’s “Freak on a Leash” thumped in his ears as he scowled at his inventory. Ryder would still not take his suggestion of using three healers seriously, no matter how many times he told him it would work. What was the actual point of being friends with the raid leader if they never actually listened when you tried to tell them stuff? 

Ryder's message pinged as it came in, making him jump. 

> Niteryder: hey man, you still on voice chat?  
>  Thorsangel: no, but I can get back on

When he logged back into the voice server, Ryder dragged him into a private channel. 

“Hey, Angel. You okay after that shit-fight?”

Castiel smiled at hearing Ryder's voice again, a fluttering starting in his stomach. Ryder spoke so differently between his raid leader voice and how he did when they were alone—he was softer, and there was often a smile in his voice. He typed out his reply, still smiling himself.

> Thorsangel: the raid? Yeah, I'm okay. Annoyed, but okay.

Ryder chuckled. “Yeah, it’s pretty fuckin’ rough. Feels like we’ve been trying for years to get this asshole.”

> Thorsangel: It’s certainly been months :(

“We’ll get it. Tonight was…pretty dreadful, yeah. But we’ll get there.” Ryder was quiet for a little while, and Castiel sat waiting as he made some more potions for the raid on Saturday night.

Ryder spoke again. “Hey, uh, this is kind of awkward, but, um.”

Castiel's eyebrows rose. Was he…nervous? It was kind of adorable. 

Ryder muttered, “Nah, don't worry, ‘s nothing.”

Castiel felt his face warming as he typed his reply. What could it possibly be? 

> Thorsangel: it's okay, tell me. 

He heard Ryder draw in a breath then he said, “I’ve got something for you, for Christmas. I made it.”

Castiel blinked at the screen a few times, hiding behind the hair flopped over one eye. Ryder had _made_ something? For _him_? His heart did a kind of uncomfortable flip-flop as he flexed his fingers over the keyboard, not quite sure how to respond. 

> Thorsangel: you made it? For me? 

Ryder laughed awkwardly. “Yeah. It's just a small thing. Can I send it to you?”

Oh… Oh crap. He was gonna ask for an address. He couldn't. He gasped in a breath, feeling his throat burn. It was Ryder, he could trust him, right? 

But Victor's voice rang in his memory, clear as a bell. 

_I'm sorry, kid. But this is the most important thing I'm gonna tell you so you listen, now. You can't trust anyone, okay? Not anyone, or any phone connection—anything. Got it?_

He couldn't risk it. He couldn't risk putting his mom in danger for a little crush. 

> Thorsangel: no, I can't give you my address  
>  Thorsangel: sorry

He dropped his head, bracing for disappointment. 

“Oh, right.” There it was. But Ryder continued. “That's okay, dude. I know how you are about your privacy. Is there somewhere else I can send it, where you could get it from instead?”

Castiel considered. Anywhere he had it sent could be traced back to him—school, the library. There was another place he'd be going soon, though. 

> Thorsangel: actually, there is. You can send it to Meg. You know, Demoneyes? She can get it to me. 

“Oh right. You guys know each other in real life?”

Castiel winced. He'd have to swear Meg to secrecy again. 

> Thorsangel: Yes, we're old friends.

“Well that's cool, I'll just give it to her at school.”

> Thorsangel: you go to Lawrence High? 

“Yeah, man. Not many high schools in this dumb town.” He chuckled. “So how do you guys know each other? You doing some kind of long distance…thing?”

Castiel wrinkled his nose. 

> Thorsangel: No! I'm sorry, I really can't say. I'm sorry I'm keeping things from you. There's a good reason for it though. 

“There is? What is it? Are you a spy or something?” Ryder sounded playful now. 

Castiel doubted he would believe him even if he told the truth. 

> Thorsangel: Yeah, I'm a Russian spy. Tell me your secrets, Natasha.

Ryder laughed. The sound made something warm bloom in Castiel's chest and he smiled, although a bittersweet feeling remained. He would never be able to have anything normal with Ryder. It was too dangerous, for all of them. 

“Come on, I gotta farm some dragonfly tears for raid potions.”

Castiel pushed his hair out of his eyes and accepted the group request, glad he didn't have to actually say anything. Surely… surely he was only imagining it, but it almost felt like Ryder was _flirting_ with him sometimes. He _had_ to be imagining that. He might be hopelessly gone on Ryder—with his deep voice, quirky sense of humor and pop culture knowledge that far surpassed anything Castiel knew—but there was no way he'd be interested in an emo loser like him, even if he was into guys in the first place. Castiel flicked his hair out of his eyes impatiently. He hated keeping secrets—hated the anonymity he had to maintain. But he couldn't risk it. He and his mom had to stay safe. 

_December 21, 2006_

A bitterly cold north wind blew, sending a chill right through Dean as he walked up the stairs and into the main school building. He unwrapped a scarf from around his neck, thankful that it hadn't actually been raining or worse this morning. 

As he approached his locker, he saw Meg walking away down the hall. He jogged to catch up to her. “Hey Meg, hold up a sec?” 

“Dean, hi. What a surprise for you to acknowledge my existence today.” She smirked, looking up and down the corridor. 

Dean wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. The only class they had together was English, and outside of that they didn’t really have anything else in common apart from Moondoor. He felt vaguely attacked, so he gave her a deadpan glare and said, “Shut up. Look, I know you know Angel… Thorsangel, in the game. Don’t you?”

Meg turned to look at him, a curious glint in her eye. “Yeah, I know him. What of it?”

“No, I mean you know him in real life.”

“Why do you say that?” Meg’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

Dean hesitated, feeling suddenly defensive. “He told me.”

“He told you? Why would he tell you that?”

“Look, I’ve got something for him for Christmas, and he said you could get it to him. Are you willing to do that or not?” Dean stopped walking. He would have to turn off to get to his History class soon, and if he didn’t give the package to her today he’d never have the nerve to ask her again.

Meg looked him up and down, appraisingly. “I might be willing, sure. What is it?”

Dean frowned at her. “It’s a present. I can’t tell you that.”

Meg grinned and pushed him playfully on the arm. “You’re sweet on him, aren’t you?”

“What? No! He’s my friend, that’s all.” 

“You sure? I don’t see you with a present for me.”

“Who says I’m not going to bring you one as well?” Dean fished around in his bag, pulling out the hastily wrapped present. It had a tag on the front that said “Angel” in Dean’s messy handwriting. It suddenly looked pathetic in his hands. 

Meg held out her hand and he had no choice but to give it over. “Oh, how sweet,” she cooed, and Dean nearly turned away and stalked off right away. Curiosity held him back, though, and instead he crowded closer to Meg, speaking more quietly. 

“Tell me about him. Why does he keep everything so secret?”

“Can’t tell you that, Deano.” 

“Is he our age? What does he look like?” 

“Hey, give the girl some space.” A voice barked out as someone shoved Dean's shoulder back, sending him off-balance into a row of locker doors with a crash. 

Cole was standing next to Meg, smirking at Dean. He turned to Meg and asked, all sweet, “Is he bothering you, Meg?”

“What the fuck, Cole…” Dean started forward, but a thick forearm grabbed him across the chest and held him back from launching at Cole. He glanced up, startled, to see Benny there. 

Meg gave Cole a withering look. “No, he's not.” She zipped the present up in her bag as she spoke. “Sorry, Deano.” She turned to move away up the corridor, calling out over her shoulder, “Don’t forget the party.”

Dean was distracted by the swing of her hips as she walked away, but shook his head. Meg was off-limits, intimidating in a way that he really didn't understand, but that wouldn't stop assholes like Cole trying it on. Sure enough, Dean looked back at Cole to see him practically salivating. Dean wanted to punch him so freaking badly, but he reined it in. He pushed Benny's arm away, thankful for his friend’s intervention. The last thing he needed was to be in trouble for fighting, with Cole of all people. 

Benny sneered at Cole, “Haven't you got some detention to be in, Trenton?”

Cole turned his smirk back on Dean and Benny. “We're having a party?” he asked, his eyes flicking back to Meg’s disappearing form.

“Yeah, and you're not invited,” Dean bit out, stopping when he realized he sounded like a petulant kindergartener. 

“That's okay, I'll find out where and when.” Cole patted Dean on the shoulder with a condescending wink. “Catch you later, ladies.”

Dean just stared at him, his teeth clenched. 

As Cole turned his back, Benny murmured, “You know he's not worth the trouble, brother.”

Dean turned to look at his friend, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “You know if he wasn't my boss’ kid…” He trailed off. 

Benny nodded. “I know. Come on, we'll be late for Fitzgerald and his puppet. I gotta get out on time to meet Andrea at the mall.”

Dean groaned. “So fucking sick of that puppet.” They headed off towards the classroom. He slowed, realizing what Benny had just said. “Wait, wait. You finally asked her out?” 

Benny grinned and said, “I'd invite you to join us, but we don't need no third wheel, sorry.” He laughed, and Dean grinned at him. 

“It's cool, I gotta work anyway.”

“You're always working! How you ever gonna meet a nice girl if you're loving up them cars all the time?” 

Dean smiled thinly. Benny wasn't far off the mark. Before Dean could reply, Benny continued, “Hey, what did you give Meg just now? You sweet on her now?”

Dean frowned, shoving Benny in the shoulder as they walked into the history room. They slumped at a couple of desks near the back, and started pulling out their books. “Just something for a mutual friend, someone we both know online.”

“Oh? Someone you're...into?” Benny waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

Dean shrugged and ducked his head to hide his flushed cheeks, as Mr. Fitzgerald started to shush the class to begin the lesson. He wondered how Benny might react if he knew that the star of his fantasies during last night’s shower wasn’t any girl, but a faceless, and definitely male, Angel.

Castiel headed for the cafeteria after a particularly boring Biology lesson. He’d spent the time going over the strategies he knew for the Painmaster boss the guild were still working on, but the only strategy that worked involved having enough firepower to take the boss down with three healers to keep up with the fireball damage. Why couldn’t Ryder see that? 

It’d be so much easier if he could just talk to him over the voice server as well. The nights of listening to Ryder’s voice and having to type his replies were annoying him to no end. But there was nothing else he could do. He couldn’t give any more of himself away, even to Ryder.

He funnelled his frustration into kicking at a pen that someone had dropped on the floor, and it clattered into the lockers beside him as he walked. 

He had to stop suddenly when someone was in his way. It was Efram and Hannah again, Hannah hurriedly fumbling in her locker while Efram looked on, looming over her. 

Castiel clicked his tongue as he stepped around Efram, nudging past in the crowded corridor. He muttered out loud, “Hannah, you can do so much better than this asshole.”

Efram’s voice came from behind him: “What did you just call me?” 

Castiel winced as he realized he’d just said that aloud, but he might as well make the most of it. He didn’t look back, but raised his middle finger over his shoulder as he walked away, hoping that he wasn’t about to be attacked. When he looked around at the faces of the people in the corridor, they were looking at him. _All of them._ He hurried into the cafeteria, the sudden attention making his heart race.

He took his food to the table at the far side of the room where he usually sat, near the windows that looked out over the gray city. What the hell had gotten into him?

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a tray landed on the table opposite him. When he looked up, Hannah was standing there. “Mind if I join you?” she asked, with a small smile.

“Uh, sure.” He shuffled up a little straighter as she sat down, regarding him seriously. 

“It’s Jimmy, right? Thank you. For what you did earlier.” She didn’t touch her food, just looked at him. 

Castiel flicked his eyes away awkwardly. “It’s cool. Are you okay?”

Hannah finally looked down at her tray, picked distractedly at her fries. “No,” she admitted. She glanced up again. “He’s not always like that, honest. He can be so sweet…” She trailed off, frowning.

“But he tries to control who you talk to? Are you going to get in trouble for talking to me?” Castiel looked around the room nervously, but there was no sign of Efram.

“I don’t know, maybe?” Hannah replied, finally picking up her water bottle to crack the lid open. “You’re in my English class, right? Can I walk there with you?”

His first instinct was to shy away, say that he had to go somewhere else on the way to class, but Hannah looked so vulnerable that the words stuck in his throat along with the mouthful of mac ’n cheese he’d just shoveled in. He nodded, wondering what he’d just got himself into.

Hannah smiled. “Thank you.” Without another word, she tucked into her lunch.

Several minutes of silent eating later, Castiel was wondering whether it would be rude of him to open the book he’d been planning to read while sitting here.

Hannah must have noticed his discomfort. “You usually read in here, don’t you?” she asked. “It’s okay, you can do that. I just needed somewhere to sit.” When Castiel didn’t either move or reply, she continued, “Reading anything good?”

Castiel was having trouble sitting still. No one had ever tried to have an actual conversation with him in the cafeteria, but Hannah’s question had caught him even more by surprise. What was the chance she’d be interested in his book? He could get away.

“Uh, it’s fantasy. You probably won’t like it.”

“Really? Try me. Hand it over.” Hannah stretched a hand across the table and shook it at Castiel. 

Castiel stared at her. What was this girl’s problem? He reached into his bag and pulled out the library’s copy of _The Lies of Locke Lamora_ , a new, hefty fantasy adventure he’d grabbed before anyone else could borrow it. He handed it over, bracing for her to reject it.

Hannah handled the book carefully, and gasped when she saw the title. “Oh wow, my bookclub has been waiting for this to come out. How’d you get a copy so soon?” 

“I work in the library,” Castiel said, his brain trying to catch up with the way Hannah lit up when she looked at the book.

“Could you get it to me after you’re done? Do you always read fantasy? Tell me you’ve read the latest _Percy Jackson_!”

“Uh, yes, no. And no, not yet,” Castiel hedged, then stood up, taking the book back. 

They left the cafeteria with Hannah asking him about his favorite fantasy books, and Castiel wondering how he’d stopped being invisible, and why suddenly, he didn’t mind.

Dean straightened up from his crouch over the engine of a Camry. He'd done a full service following Bobby's master list, and all he had left to do was to move the car back outside for Alfie to wash it. He really hated having to work all day on a Saturday, but that’s when the workshop got a lot of its business, so he kept his head down and thought of the paycheck.

He closed the hood with a click and fished the key out of his pocket, but as he looked up, he saw Ed standing in the doorway, watching him. 

Dean paused. “Can I help you with something, Mister Trenton?”

Ed moved into the workshop, folding his arms across his chest. “As a matter of fact, you can, Winchester. Come with me.” He turned to walk out the back door. 

Dean looked down at the keys in his hand. “I just gotta move—”

“Don't worry about that. Alfie can sort it.”

Dean blinked, wondering what this was about. Was he in trouble? He threw the keys into the front seat and hurried after Ed. 

The back of the workshop was mostly storage, but that’s not where Ed led Dean now. He went out to the back lot, where they mostly kept scrap and parts too big to be stored in the workshop. Ed walked between the rows of scrappers and old engines to the sheds at the back of the lot. Inside one of the sheds was a fairly recent Audi—gray, shiny and unmarked. Dean looked it over, then at Ed, questioningly.

Ed stalked around the car, nodding appreciatively. “This one’s just come in. Gonna make sure she’s in running order then sell her on. That’s why I’ve got ‘er out here, to keep away from the other junkers. And I don’t want Alfie scratching ‘er up, neither.” He continued his circuit, looking up at Dean with a hard glare. “I want you to look ‘er over, make sure she’s in good shape. I've got someone interested already.”

Dean's eyes were drawn back to the front of the car. There was a scrape on the paint just above the Kansas license plate, almost as though… 

“Has someone been tampering with these plates? There's a scratch here.” He pointed to the spot as Ed came back around to the front. 

“Damn. Cut and polish that out, would you? I expect it done within the hour, or whatever stupidly early time you knock off.”

Dean murmured his assent as Ed swept out of the shed. Something wasn't right here. This wasn't the sort of thing Bobby's business did—buying and reselling. It was a mechanical workshop, not a restorer or touch-up joint. 

Dean carefully checked the car over, polishing out the scratch and making sure the rest of the paint was intact. He went to wash his polishing cloths in the sink on the side of the shed, but as he shifted a rubbish bag to the side, it made a curious metallic clanking sound. 

Dean looked around, but Ed had gone back inside the workshop and none of the other staff were around. He opened the plastic bag, shifting a few oily bunches of paper to reveal two lightly scuffed Missouri license plates. Dean frowned, covering up the plates again and dropping the bag. If Ed was planning to sell the car in Kansas, why not just sell it with Missouri plates? Was there a chance this car was stolen? He wondered if he could, or should, ask Bobby about this. 

After washing the rags out, he walked back inside the shed, mind whirling. As he checked the car over for potential faults, he wondered how he might find out if there was something dodgy about it, but there was nothing to indicate that the car was anything but a legitimate on-sell. He cleaned up the polish and left the shed, heading back inside to find Ed.

Bobby and Ed were in the office, going over some document. Bobby looked unhappy as Ed told him something forcefully, but he stopped talking and they both looked up at Dean’s approach. 

“All done, Mister Trenton,” Dean said, stopping a few paces short of the desk where the men stood. 

Ed nodded. “Good. Now get this Camry outta the way, would you? It’s blocking the workshop.”

Dean nodded and retreated to where the Camry still sat where he’d left it. Where was Alfie? He didn’t have a license yet, but he usually moved cars around the lot without any issues. Ed went back to talking to Bobby as Dean found the keys and started her up, Bobby’s eyes following him as he reversed out of the workshop.

Outside, the other car he’d worked on today sat where he’d left it, still unwashed. He parked up and got out, wondering if Alfie was off sick today. Well, the cars would still have to be washed. He filled a bucket and dumped some washing soap in it, digging a sponge out of Alfie’s cupboard. None of the kid’s things were in here, so he guessed he was off for the day. 

It took him the best part of an hour to wash and dry the two cars, and the sun was low in the trees to the west of the lot by the time he headed back inside with the keys. Bobby was sitting at his desk, head stooped and both his hands on top of the ball cap he perpetually wore.

“Bobby?” Dean approached slowly, not wanting to take him by surprise. He rubbed his hands to try to get some warmth back into them.

Bobby looked up, exhaustion lining his face. “Dean? I thought you’d gone, boy.”

“No, I had to wash the two cars out there. Is Alfie off today?” Dean placed the two sets of keys in the cupboard on the wall, closing the door with a click as the lock engaged.

Bobby let out a long sigh. “Ed let him go.”

“Oh. Was he sick?”

“No, I mean he was let go. Fired.” 

Dean stared at him, not sure what to make of the news. Alfie had always been a great worker, careful with the cars and friendly to everyone. Why would he possibly be fired?

“Don’t look at me like that. Ed said he caught him stealing money from in here.” Bobby tapped the cash tin that was usually locked up inside the desk drawer, and which Dean knew for a fact was emptied each day. Bobby continued with a frown, “I wish I could at least have given him a good reference, but if Ed says he was stealing, then…” He trailed off with a shrug.

“Bobby… Ed asked me to check over a car he’s got out in the back shed. An Audi, recent model.” Dean hesitated, but he needed to get this off his chest, and if there was one person he could unload to, it was Bobby. “The plates have been changed.” 

He stopped when Bobby looked around furtively, speaking urgently in a low voice. “Shush, ya idjit. Don’t ask questions.” He looked around again, then cocked his head sideways quickly as if to ask Dean to follow. 

He pressed the button to close the front roller door of the garage, then headed towards the steps. Bobby had lived in a small apartment over the workshop ever since his wife had passed away, and it still looked like a storage attic to Dean. Boxes of stuff gathering dust from Bobby’s old life clogged up the corridor and probably the two bedrooms as well, but the living area and kitchen at least looked lived-in. A bookcase packed with old books stood against one wall, plus a couple of threadbare old couches in front of a newer-looking TV. 

Bobby went into the kitchen, fetching a beer from the fridge. He brought Dean back a can of soda, and they sat on the couches, Dean enjoying the opportunity to get off his feet for the first time all day.

Bobby took a second long swig of his beer before he said anything. “So. Ed.”

When he didn’t say anything further, Dean prompted him with, “What’s going on, Bobby?”

“Look, I shouldn’t be saying anything about this, but you’ve seen it now, so I need to explain. You’ve got to understand, I don’t like any of this. But he’s got me in a bind, here.” He let out his breath in a heavy sigh. “I don’t know where he’s getting the cars he brings in here. But when I questioned him about it, he said I’d better clam up, or he’d start hurting people. You. Alfie. I’m guessin’ Alfie found something, tried to rat him out. I hope he’s okay.”

Dean took a breath, trying to process what Bobby was telling him. “You think they’re stolen?”

“Possibly.”

“Bobby, why haven’t you gone to the police?” Dean asked.

“Because there are more of them, Dean! He’s part of some group, I’m fairly sure—I’ve heard him talkin’ on the phone to one of them. If we go to the cops, chances are we’ll live to regret doing that. Or worse,” Bobby added, scowling.

Dean let out a careful breath. “So, what… I’m just supposed to go on detailing these cars he’s flipping?”

“Yes, you are. I don’t like it, I don’t want us to become some...chop-shop, but I also don’t want you getting hurt. So just suck it up and do what he asks for now, until I can work somethin’ out, you get me?”

Dean nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Good.” Bobby stood up, going into the kitchen to fetch another beer. Dean watched him lean against the counter as he popped the top, took a swig, then rubbed his hand across his face with his free hand. He’d never seen Bobby like this—the man was often gruff, but seeing him _worried_ like this had Dean’s heart racing, almost as much as learning that Ed was playing them. That fact hadn’t really surprised him.

Dean stood up. “I’d better get home. ‘S getting late.”

“Yeah, you go on. I’ll see you what, Monday?” Bobby asked, moving back into the living area. 

“Yup, see you then.” Dean left through the outside door, moving down the stairs into the chilly night with trepidation. Any shadow could hold a bad guy now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Books mentioned in this chapter:  
>  _The Lies of Locke Lamora_ , Scott Lynch  
>  _The Sea of Monsters (Percy Jackson #2)_ , Rick Riordan
> 
> No footnotes for this chapter, but do let me know what you're thinking!


	4. Chapter 4

_December 25, 2006_

Castiel tilted his head to the side. His hair fell away from his eye so he could see his screen better. 

He'd tried, God knew he had tried to be in the same room as his father for hours. He’d been here when they’d got back from church, and Castiel had kept his distance, only speaking to the man when a question was addressed directly to him. 

Christmas dinner had been a special kind of hell, with his mother and father making polite but awkward conversion around the table, while Castiel wished desperately that Gabriel had been able to make it back from Amsterdam just this one year to make light of the situation like he always did.

He’d excused himself from dinner as soon as he could, hiding away in his room to farm for reputation[13] with the Elves of the Dark Woods, listening to Hawthorne Heights and trying not to click his mouse so hard that it broke.

It was still mid-afternoon, so the server was quiet. Most people were still at their family events, he guessed. Castiel was happy to stew in his frustration alone for now, but he also half-wished Ryder would log on so he could at least have company. 

He was mid-fight when he heard a knock at his bedroom door. Shit… he quickly flicked over to a game of Civilization IV that he’d started purposely for backup in case either of his parents decided to check on him. He called out, “Yes?”

The door opened to admit his dad. Chuck walked in with an apologetic grin, sitting down on Castiel’s bed.

“Hey, buddy.”

Castiel removed his earphones and frowned at his father. “Dad, I’m seventeen. You don’t get to call me ‘buddy’ anymore.”

Chuck grimaced. “My bad. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Castiel said, “I’m fine,” and looked back to his screen, trying to work out what he had been going to do next for Science research. He wasn’t quite up to Gunpowder yet, if he remembered correctly.

Chuck sighed, and Castiel assumed he was looking around the room at Castiel’s band posters and Moondoor figurines. “I know… this hiding has been hard on you. Having to move schools and whatever must have been awful. I’m so sorry.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say, and if he said anything, it might involve shouting and punches, so he kept silent. 

Chuck continued after a few moments, “The police are on the trail, you know. They think they’ve found a lead in Lawrence. If it pans out, we might be able to relax a bit.”

Castiel bristled at that. How could he just come in here and say that, after getting them into this mess in the first place? He turned to his father and gritted his teeth, trying not to raise his voice. “How exactly do we relax, Dad? We’ve been hiding so long, me and Mom, we’ll never be able to live our lives how we want to. We’ll always be looking over our shoulders!”

“I know, I know that. I wish there was something I could tell you to make it better, but all I can say right now is hang in there. The police are making progress, okay?”

“Whatever.” Castiel resolutely turned back to his screen and slammed the keys a few times to move his catapults and knights into enemy territory. Declaring war on an AI would have to do for now.

Chuck stayed sitting for only a few seconds before he stood up and left the room, shutting the door behind him. 

Castiel let out his breath and flicked back to the Moondoor window. He’d been attacked while he was away and his corpse was lying on the ground, but at least Ryder had logged on in the meantime. Cool relief flooded him when he saw messages.

> Niteryder: Hey Angel.  
>  Niteryder: Merry Xmas dude  
>  Niteryder: Hey, you there?  
>  Niteryder: ...are you dead? Did those nasty bunnies kill you?

He huffed his amusement at the latest message—fluffy rabbits also roamed the Dark Woods where he had been killing fire elementals. He quickly typed out a reply.

> Thorsangel: Lol, merry christmas to you too  
>  Thorsangel: These bunnies are vicious, I’m telling you.  
>  Niteryder: Run away! They have nasty big pointy teeth!  
>  Thorsangel: Um, sure.  
>  Niteryder: You never watched Monty Python? Jeez man, we gotta get you some dvds.  
>  Thorsangel: I’ll add it to the list. How was your day?  
>  Niteryder. Yeah, it was ok. My mom cooked her terrible roast beef that gives your jaw a workout, but at least Sammy and I had a couple new games to play so we got away from talking to Grandpa Sam.  
>  Thorsangel: Sounds like fun  
>  Niteryder: How about you?

Castiel had been prepared to brush off questions about his day, but the pent-up words came spilling out before he could backspace them away.

> Thorsangel: It’s been awful. My parents are separated and my dad has come to visit us for Christmas. He’s trying to pretend like nothing is wrong, like things are normal, but they are so not. I don’t want anything to do with him. He fucked up my life.

He pressed enter without reading it back first, before he could reconsider doing it. As soon as he had, though, a cold dread settled in his stomach. He wasn’t giving away any vital information, was he? He read over what he’d typed and it seemed okay, so he kept typing before Ryder could reply.

> Thorsangel: I just had to get away from them and do something to distract myself before I punched someone, you know?

He sat back, taking his hands off the keyboard so he wouldn’t be tempted to write more. It took Ryder a good while to reply, and when he did, Castiel’s breath caught in his throat. 

> Niteryder: Wow, dude, I think that’s the most emotion ive ever seen out of you. Not that that’s a bad thing, by all means let it out. I like you even better now that I know there’s a real person behind the screen :)

Castiel couldn’t reply. His fingers wouldn’t physically move.

> Niteryder: Are you okay? Come on, I’ll show you somewhere that makes me feel better when i’m pissed off.  
>  Thorsangel: Where would this place be?  
>  Niteryder: I’ll go there and summon you to me. One sec.

Castiel sat back again, holding his face in his palms, letting his hair fall forward. What was he doing? He was letting Ryder in too close, that’s what. The guy had worked his way into Castiel’s heart, and there was no getting him out without one or other of them breaking, Castiel was sure of it. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a pressure on his thigh. His dad must have let Bastet in, and she was intent on jumping onto his lap. She purred and kneaded at his legs, sharp claws pricking through his jeans as she settled in. He stroked her absently as he considered telling Ryder even more.

This was uncharted territory. He’d had crushes on guys before, long before he’d ever realized he was gay, but this… this was new. He wanted to let Ryder in, wanted him to _know_ him. And the thought terrified him.

It was only a few moments until Ryder messaged him again.

> Niteryder: Okay, I’m here.

A window popped up saying that Niteryder wanted to summon him. Castiel clicked accept and a loading screen appeared. When he reappeared, he recognized the place. He was in the Whispering Glade, in the forest not far from where he’d been just now in the Dark Woods. Trees stretched overhead, allowing filtered light down through the canopy. There was a waterfall nearby—Castiel could hear a quiet sound effect. 

Niteryder stood nearby, and his toon waved, jumping a few times. 

Castiel made his toon smile, then typed out the /hug emote. 

> Thorsangel: thank you for bringing me here. It’s peaceful.  
>  Niteryder: Have you got the music on?  
>  Thorsangel: The game music? No, I usually listen to my own music while playing.  
>  Niteryder: dude, turn that off and put the game music on.

It had been a long time since Castiel had listened to the music from the game. While healing, the combat music in the game’s soundtrack was often distracting and over-dramatic, especially when people were speaking on voice chat as well. While questing he just preferred to listen to his own music, but he dug through the game options, switching on the ambient music and turning up the volume setting. He reached over and pressed pause on his iPod, stopping Paramore mid-song.

A wash of calm chords swept over him, gradually shifting. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting it out, feeling some of the day’s tension drain with it.

When he opened his eyes again, his chat window was filled with Ryder’s messages.

> Niteryder: What do you think? Nice, huh?  
>  Niteryder: I come here sometimes just to chill, you know? When i’ve had a rough day  
>  Niteryder: I’m usually into classic rock music, not this classical shit, but i like this.  
>  Niteryder: it’s cool if you don’t like it, we can go do dailies or something now  
>  Niteryder: Come on dude, you’re killing me. Did you go afk or something?

Castiel quickly typed his reply.

> Thorsangel: Ryder, I like it. I can see why you come here.  
>  Niteryder: Oh, thank fuck. I was worried, haha  
>  Thorsangel: Thank you for bringing me. I had no idea the music was so beautiful.  
>  Niteryder: no probs. I’ve been here a lot myself lately. Crazy few weeks.  
>  Thorsangel: oh? Everything ok?

Ryder took a while to reply, and Castiel rubbed at his eyes. He needed to catch up on some sleep—his dad being here for christmas had been messing with his head. He’d been finding it difficult to relax.

> Niteryder: Nah, its cool. Just stress at work. Lots of jobs over the holidays for some reason.  
>  Thorsangel: Oh, that’s a shame. I’ve got a week off, actually. I’m heading out of town tomorrow.  
>  Niteryder: Ah, okay. I don’t suppose you want to say where? xD  
>  Thorsangel: Sorry, can’t do that. I’ll be back after new years, though. I’m sure you’ll manage.  
>  Niteryder: I dunno man, i’ll miss you. Wish you were coming here.

Castiel’s heart leapt into his throat. Ryder had never said that he missed him before, although Castiel missed him all the time. His school days were torture these days, sitting through classes staring at the clock, counting the minutes until he could be back online. He had it bad. 

He hovered his fingers over the keys, willing himself to be brave enough to say something.

> Thorsangel: I’ll miss you too

He typed “I wish,” and then backspaced it away. There was no use wishing. He frowned, his throat tightening. He should really back off again, distance himself. Trouble was, he didn’t want to. He was going to be in Lawrence tomorrow—he could ask Ryder to meet up. He could...but he shouldn’t. Instead, he bit the inside of his cheek and typed a message.

> Thorsangel: Thanks for running with me the last few months. It’s really meant a lot to me. I’m not really a great friend, i’m sorry. But i enjoy our time together.  
>  Niteryder: Me too, man. More than i prob should considering you won’t even tell me your name xD

Castiel looked away from the screen, his chest aching. He was an asshole. He was leading Ryder on, and he couldn’t ever follow through. Although from what his dad had said before about the police making progress with the case…maybe he could be a little less strict.

> Thorsangel: What you call me now is close to the truth, actually.

Ryder’s reply was quick. 

> Niteryder: What, Angel? Are you Angelo? Or what…michaelangelo?  
>  Thorsangel: Lol, no.  
>  Niteryder: Just Michael? He was an angel, right? 

Castiel fiddled with a pen on his desk while he debated actually telling Ryder his name.

> Niteryder: Gabriel?

Castiel winced. This was getting too close to home. He couldn’t do it. Not yet.

> Thorsangel: You won’t guess. But please don’t go asking Meg or anything. She’s sworn to secrecy.  
>  Niteryder: Okay, I guess i'll just have to keep trying.  
>  Thorsangel: You can try :)  
>  Niteryder: I’ll work out your riddles while you’re away. Guess I’ll have to drag Sammy around the orcs instead. Charlie’s going off to Bermuda or something over the holidays.

Castiel knew he was going to miss Ryder terribly over the week while he was at Meg’s, but maybe he’d be able to log in from her place and surprise him. He didn’t really want her watching them chat, though, especially after today. 

> Niteryder: Sammy’s asking me to go run DC with him. You wanna join?

Castiel pouted. He hated the Dank Canyon. It wasn’t far from here on the edge of the forests, but there was just so many bad guys in there that it took more concentration to keep people alive than he generally liked when he wasn’t raiding. It was hard work, basically.

> Thorsangel: can’t we go somewhere else? The keep?  
>  Niteryder: There’s some drop in there he wants, apparently. You know how he is with his matching outfits.

Castiel chuckled. 

> Thorsangel: okay then, invite. 

Urgh, DC. He was gonna have to come back to the Whispering Glade again after the run to decompress. He smiled as he listened to the music for a few more moments before the summon came for the dungeon.

Bastet looked up for just a moment, then resumed her purring in Castiel’s lap. 

_December 30, 2006_

Bobby’s was busy over the holidays. The people of Lawrence were off work, and that meant they were able to get that repair done they’d been putting off, or fit in a regular service on their commuter. 

Bobby didn’t believe in looking a gift horse in the mouth, and he didn’t have any family around to spend the holidays with in any case. He stayed open between Christmas and New Year, and Dean worked almost every day. He didn’t mind that much anyway—he was stashing the money away to help his mom pay for college for Sammy. Besides, it helped take his mind off how much he was missing Angel. 

As he finished up the brakes he was working on inside the workshop, he layered up his jacket and scarf and braved the crisp air, heading for the back sheds. As he blew warm air into his hands, his mind went back to his conversation with Angel on Christmas day. He’d been so sure that after he’d brought him to his quiet place in the Whispering Glade, Angel would open up and tell him something, anything about himself. Instead, he was left hurt that Angel clearly still didn’t trust him enough to share something as simple as his name with him. Hell, he didn’t even know if Angel knew that his name was Dean, although some of the guild called him by name during raids. 

He’d decided he was done pushing. If Angel was actually interested in trusting him, he’d come through. Otherwise, he’d have to be patient and wait. 

He rolled up the shed door, admiring the way the daylight shone off the chrome of his latest project, a ‘67 Chevy Impala. The day after Christmas, Ed had brought him out to the shed and pulled the dust sheet off, saying, “I’ve had this baby sitting around for years now. She’s looking a bit beat-up, but her bones are good. You up for a challenge, kid?”

The Impala had years of caked-on dirt and grime—God knew where Ed had been keeping her—but after a wash and a polish she was looking shiny and gorgeous already. She hadn’t run to start with, and Ed had sourced an old engine for him to try, but Dean was able to refit the existing engine. By the third day working on her, she finally started up with a rumble and Dean had nearly creamed his pants at the sound. There was nothing else for it—he was in love. 

She still wasn’t perfect, of course. The upholstery in her back seat desperately needed some attention after what smelled like a family of mice had lived in there for some time, and something rattled in the front vents when the air was on. But he was gradually working on her, piece by piece, asking Ed to source parts when he needed them even though the guy complained bitterly whenever he had to spend any money, and hardly any suppliers were open over the holidays. 

Dean had no idea where she had come from, although he hoped there was no one out there missing her. He was just glad to get to work on her, and drive her around the block now and then to test his fixes.

He unpacked the large needle and strong thread that he’d brought out to mend the seat cover, and he got to work adding more seat stuffing and stitching the large gash closed. By the time the back seat was complete, Dean realized he'd been so busy, it had been a whole couple of hours since he’d thought about Angel. He slipped back into worrying about his friend like a well-worn but uncomfortable pair of shoes. 

It seemed like longer than a week since he’d last spoken to him, and back then he’d been all worried about his dad. Dean wondered what it would be like to have two parents who didn’t get along. He’d been small when his father had died, and his mom had hardly talked about him over the years. From what he could tell from old photos and the little his mom did say, his dad had been a quiet figure—few friends, not many possessions. All Dean had of him was his own vague memories. 

His thoughts drifted back to Angel as he cleaned up the mess in the back of the car. What was he doing right now? Whatever it was, it was probably more enjoyable than what Dean was doing, although this back seat was nice and wide—he could have a lot of fun in here. He ran his hand along the smooth fabric. A lot of fun…perhaps with Angel. No, he needed to stop that train of thought, he was at work. 

Still, what stories did this car have to tell? As it dawned on him that perhaps other people had had fun in this back seat, he pulled his hand back again, crinkling his nose. No, there was no way Angel would ever see this car, let alone join him in the back seat, even if Dean was brave enough to ask him. 

With a sigh, he wondered if Meg had had a chance to give Angel the present yet. Well, he’d see her tomorrow night at this party of hers. He could ask her then. 

_December 31, 2006_

Castiel missed Ryder even before he left home. His dad had left during the afternoon of Christmas day with a small goodbye through his bedroom door, and Castiel had told himself he was glad to see the back of him. 

Early the following morning, his mom fussed around him like she always did. “Are you sure you don't want me just to drive you to Kansas? It would be safer than the bus!”

“Mom, it's like, seven hours one way! I'll be fine, stop worrying.” Castiel shifted in his car seat, uncomfortable in the ugly tan trenchcoat she had made him wear. He looked ridiculous, and he was freezing, but she had insisted. 

“Well, you just call me when you get there. And lay low, okay? No wild parties. It would be better if no one recognizes you.”

“Please. I know how to do this hiding thing, remember? I've been doing it at school for years.”

Becky looked over at him, reaching out a hand to his shoulder with a horrified look on her face. “Oh, I know. I'm so sorry, baby. I wish...I wish things had worked out better.” 

He shook off her hand, frowning. “‘m fine.”

His mom turned back to the road, her voice hardening. “You deserve better. We all do.”

Castiel looked at his mom, at the lines on her forehead, around her mouth. She had been doing it tough all this time, and while he'd been struggling with a new school, a new life, a new crush…he'd never thought to check in with her. 

“You sure you'll be okay on your own for a few days, Mom?” he asked softly, tucking his hair behind his ear. 

She glanced at him, surprised. “Yes, I'll be fine. It'll be just like normal!” she added brightly. 

Castiel snorted, looking back out the window into the bitter pre-dawn. Snow lay along the edges of the road where the plows had been through, and a dim light filtered through heavy clouds. 

At the bus station he let his hair fall over his face, only looking up long enough to work out where he needed to go. 

The bus took forever, first having to head south to St Louis, then west towards Kansas. He arrived in Lawrence in the early evening, meeting Meg at the bus station with a long hug. He wasn't aware of how much he'd been missing her the last few months until he arrived.

But he missed Ryder more. He had known he was going to, but the ache in his chest when he saw Meg’s Moondoor merchandise lined up on a shelf above her computer was barely dulled by the busy week she put him through.

They revisited old haunts in Lawrence, headed out of town in Meg’s mom’s car to see the lakes, and lounged around at home watching old movies. 

It wasn’t just Ryder that he was missing, but the need to log into Moondoor itself was like an itch in his fingers. He was aware on some level that this feeling was unhealthy, but he really didn’t care. He hated this deep ache, and although he tried not to be too miserable with Meg, he couldn’t bring himself out of it. 

By the end of the week he was jittery and listless. Meg glared at him, hand on hips. “Come on, we're going out.”

Castiel turned his head sideways on the couch towards her, so his hair flopped out of his eyes. 

Meg tsked and whined, “I didn't invite you here just so you could be all sad and boring. We need to get food and shit, anyway.”

Castiel squinted at her, then turned back to the _Frasier_ rerun on the TV. “What for? We just went yesterday.”

Meg got to her feet, holding out a hand to help him up. “For the party.”

Castiel ignored her hand, engrossed in the show again. “What party?”

“We’re having one.”

Castiel looked at her now, dread flooding him. 

Meg continued, “My mom’s away, it's New Year's Eve, why wouldn’t I have one?”

“We can't have a party. I’m supposed to be laying low here, remember? My mom specifically said ‘no wild parties!’”

“Relax, I’ve only invited some people from school. It won’t be that many.”

He got to his feet, towering over her. “Meg, some of those people _know me_. That’s not laying low!”

“It’s fine, you look so different now than you did in ninth grade! They’ll never recognize you.”

Castiel took a few deep breaths to calm the panic rising in his throat. “This is a terrible idea, Meg.”

“No, Clarence, this is a great idea. It’s gonna be fun. Besides, Dean’s coming.” 

“Who?”

“Dean Winchester. You know, from Moondoor.” She took in Cas’ blank expression. “Niteryder? The guy you spend every night with pretending you’re not hopelessly in love with?”

Castiel felt the blood drain from his face. “ _Ryder?_ He’s coming here?”

Meg turned to head for the door. “Sure! He's in my English class. Why d’you think he's in our guild to start with? I invited him.”

Castiel gulped down a breath, then another. This was bad—really bad. 

Meg turned around and flung his coat at him. “Put your boots on—it's snowed some more.”

Castiel sat in the car, then followed Meg around the supermarket in a daze, his stomach a lead weight. How could she have done this to him? She knew he was supposed to be hiding! And Ryder… he would have to tell him who he was. Or did he? Perhaps he could keep his secrets, meet the man he was reasonably sure he was falling for and go on his merry way, Dean none the wiser. It would be torture, sure, but what other choice did he have? He couldn't let Ryder—no, _Dean_ —get caught up in his fucked up life. 

They loaded the groceries into Meg's car and headed back towards home. Meg turned to look at him as they waited at a light. “Come on, Clarence, you've barely said a word in the last hour. It's gonna be fine, okay? These people don't know who you are—I'll just say you're a friend visiting from out of town.”

“This is still a terrible idea,” Castiel muttered, his hair over his face as he stared through it into the fading daylight. “The only way I'm gonna be a part of your dumb party is if you don't tell anyone who I am. I'll be Jimmy all night, and I'll decide if I want to tell Ry—I mean, Dean, who I really am. Okay?”

Meg huffed, “Look, I wasn't planning to out you or anything! Course I'll keep your cover—I just thought a party would be a bit of fun. Jeez.”

Castiel scowled. He was glad the store wasn't far from Meg's—he felt sick. 

“Oh shit, remind me when we get home that I've got something for you.” Meg glanced at him guiltily. 

Castiel decided he didn't want to know, and turned to look out of the window. 

When they pulled up in Meg's garage, they both headed for the trunk. Meg grabbed a couple of the bags, then saw Castiel frowning at her. “Hey, I'm sorry, I thought you'd be happy to meet Dean. Guess I won't bother trying to help you out again.” She hefted the bags and stalked off into the house, muttering about ungrateful something-or-others. 

Castiel turned his eyes to the heavens. Great, now she was mad at him. He grabbed the remaining bags, shut the trunk and twitched his head to the side to flick his hair out of his eyes so he could see where he was going in the dim garage. 

In the kitchen, Meg was unloading the bags of chips, salsa and other junk they'd bought. Castiel dumped his bags and leaned back against the counter. 

“I'm sorry. I'm just…freaked out.”

Meg turned, raising one pierced eyebrow at him. “Really? I would never have guessed.” She moved around the kitchen, fetching bowls and plates from various cupboards. “It's gonna be fine. I promise. You think I should cut up some carrots?”

Castiel blinked. “I dunno. Are there rabbits coming?”

Meg stopped moving for a moment, turning to look at him with a grin. “There’s my boy! All right, no healthy stuff. Oops, there's the doorbell.”

The jangling sound had startled Castiel, and now the idea that there was already someone at the door at four p.m. alarmed him even further.

Meg bustled out of the kitchen, calling, “It's probably just Balthazar with the booze.”

Castiel followed her, worried. “You've got alcohol?”

Meg flashed him a wicked grin. “Nope, but Balthazar has!”

She opened the front door to reveal a tall, slim and rakishly handsome man. He opened his arms with an, “Ahhhh!” and Meg responded in kind as he stooped to wrap his arms around her. They looked almost comical together, one short and the other so tall as to nearly hit his head on the door frame. 

“Hello my love! How was your Christmas?” The man's accent was crisply British and he did a double take as he noticed Cas standing there. “Well, hello! Who's your little emotional friend, Meggers?”

Castiel glared at him. _Meggers?_

She replied, laughing, “This is an old friend of mine—” She turned to look pointedly at Castiel, adding, “Jimmy. Jimmy, Balthazar.”

Castiel nodded, but Balthazar thrust out a hand, so Castiel had no choice but to take it. “Hi,” he muttered. 

“Charmed. Now, if you don't mind, I've got a trunk full of beer and other stuff. Come help.” Balthazar turned and picked his way down the icy garden path, towards a BMW parked against the curb. 

When he opened up the car, Castiel couldn't help but take in a sharp breath. The wagon was packed with cartons of beer and boxes of wine, and as Balthazar picked up a box and moved towards the front door, Castiel murmured to Meg, “Just how many friends are you expecting?”

“Better to have too much than not enough, right?” Meg said cheerily, heading for the door with a box under her arm. 

Castiel rolled his eyes again and grabbed a carton, beer bottles clanking as he settled it on his hip. 

In the kitchen, Castiel deposited his box on the counter and headed out for another load. By the time he came back in with another armful, Balthazar had draped himself over a chair in the living room, beer bottle in hand. Meg stood leaning in the doorway between the rooms, chatting away about what they'd been up to that week. 

Castiel just gave them a dirty look and headed out to get another carton.

At least Meg came out after that to help, and once they'd unloaded all of it, they went back into the living room to join Balthazar, who'd switched on a rerun of _Friends_ and was chuckling to himself. 

“Hey, thanks for getting all that for us, Balt.” Meg plonked down on the couch next to the long-legged man, but Castiel stood near the door, still wary as hell.

“My pleasure, darling. Come sit down, Jimmy. I don't bite. Unless you ask nicely, of course.” He turned an exaggerated wink towards Meg and she laughed. 

Castiel stared at him. He wasn't sure why the guy wanted to talk to him—he'd been planning to disappear upstairs. He moved towards the armchair across the room and sat, feeling like a freak show.

“So, where do you come from?” Balthazar grinned, focusing his full attention on Castiel like he was some fascinating specimen. He leaned forward, legs crossed and serious. 

“Uh, Illinois?” Castiel ventured. 

Balthazar nodded. “Right. And do you feel your emotional expression is heightened or diminished by your fashion choices? Which totally suit you, by the way!” he added, one hand out to placate him. 

Castiel gaped. “Uh…” He looked at Meg. Who the hell _was_ this guy? 

Meg laughed again, which was so unusual for her that Castiel nearly pinched himself to make sure he was actually awake. “It's okay, Clarence. He's an anthropology student at KU, about to graduate. He asks me weird shit like that all the time.” She turned to Balthazar, adding, “Leave him alone, he's shy.”

“No, I've never met an emo kid before! Let me ask him, go on. You don't mind, do you, Jim?”

Did he mind? No one had ever asked him anything like that before. What he did mind was being called “Jim”. He had to draw a line at that. “It's Jimmy, and no, I don't mind.”

Balthazar grinned, then the grin dropped abruptly as he looked at his watch. “Fuck!” He drained the last of his beer then jumped up, making both Castiel and Meg stare up at him. “I'm supposed to be taking a class of undergrads in fifteen minutes. I'd better fuck off. Nice to meet you, Jimmy. Meg, darling, don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“You got it, B.” Meg said with a grin as she showed him out.

When she came back in, she gestured to Castiel to follow. “C’mon.”

Upstairs and in Meg’s bedroom, she dug through her schoolbag and came up with a paper-wrapped object. She placed it in his hands. “I was supposed to give this to you after Christmas, but I forgot about it until today.”

Castiel eyed it dubiously. The lumpy object was wrapped in paper with tiny colorful Christmas trees all over it. “Is it from you? What is it?” he asked, looking back up at her. 

“No dummy, I already gave you my present. Just go into your room and open it.” She smiled encouragingly, and shooed him out of her room.

Castiel sat on the edge of his bed and carefully unwrapped the present. As he pulled a bundle of wire out of the packaging, a note fell out into his lap. He unfolded it and read, “Angel, I made this and thought of you. Happy holidays. —Niteryder”

Castiel drew in a breath and let it out again slowly, trying to calm his suddenly racing heart. He’d assumed that Ryder hadn’t bothered to give his gift to Meg to pass on, but it seemed he had, after all. He turned the shiny, silver wire over in his hand, making out a humanoid shape with wire-wrapped legs and a featureless face, in total about the length of his palm. It had large wings attached at the back that spread out around the angel’s shoulders. That’s what it was—an angel. Castiel caught himself grinning broadly, and he let out an involuntary laugh. He felt light as air. Ryder—no, Dean—had made this beautiful thing for him? And he was going to be at the party tonight!

Oh fuck, he was going to _be there, tonight_. Castiel felt the blood drain from his face as he considered just how the hell he was going to face the guy he was pretty sure he was most of the way in love with, and tell him who he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 13 Farming for reputation is doing a repeated set of tasks for a certain faction to raise your reputation with them, unlocking new rewards or benefits. If you think this sounds boring, it often is, but the rewards are usually worth it. [ return to text ]


	5. Chapter 5

_December 31, 2006_

Castiel stared at himself in the mirror. He needed the disguise to be perfect today—these people might have known him once, but they didn't know Jimmy. His eyeliner technique was a lot better than it had been a year ago, and the black Fall Out Boy shirt and tight jeans were a far cry from the colorful sweaters he might have worn back then. 

He carefully brushed his dark hair, letting it hang over his left eye, then tried to smooth it down with his free hand. No matter how much he tried, it would never sit flat. He let out a frustrated breath. His life was such a mess, and this party was the perfect shitstorm. Still quietly seething at Meg, he grabbed his iPod and earbuds and stuffed them in his pocket. He wouldn't be speaking to anyone if he could help it. 

Except maybe Ryder. He eyed the little wire angel sitting on his nightstand. His heart gave a lurch as he turned away, closing his bedroom door behind him as he left.

Downstairs, the party was getting crowded. Castiel recognized a few girls from Meg's year clustered around the food table, and there were other groups sitting around the interior of the house, beers or cups in hand. Some of them looked too old to be at school, and Castiel wondered just where the invitations to Meg's party had ended up. The stereo in the corner was doing its best to pump out music against the noise—it sounded like pop nonsense, maybe Britney Spears or something. 

As Castiel stepped into the room, he looked across at some new arrivals coming in through the front door. There was a big, broad guy wearing a plaid shirt and a flat driving cap, and as they moved closer, he saw another guy behind him. Tall, broad shouldered but slim. Sandy brown hair, Metallica shirt under a dark overshirt. The guy looked up, pinning Castiel with the greenest eyes he'd ever seen. 

The look only lasted a moment but Castiel felt the weight of it like it had tackled him in the chest. He dropped his eyes and turned away, embarrassed to be caught staring. He moved over to the food table, snagging a handful of chips and found a seat in the corner to disappear into. 

When he risked a glance through his hair again, the green-eyed guy was hugging the girls near the food table. Castiel's heart was racing, the chips like cardboard in his mouth. He couldn't do this. He couldn't meet people, and then disappear again. He'd never had a lot of friends before the move, but since then he'd avoided making attachments, and he'd certainly not been around this many people at one time. He picked at the black on his nails, wondering if Meg would just drag him back downstairs if he disappeared. 

Meg's voice cut into his panic. “Dean? C‘mere, I wanna introduce you to someone.” 

Castiel's eyes snapped up. Meg was leading Green-eyes over towards him. Was this…? No… 

“Dean, this is an old friend of mine, Jimmy.” She looked pointedly at Castiel as she said it. 

Castiel shoved his hair away from his eye and sat up straighter. So this was Niteryder—the guy he’d spent hours chatting and gaming with, the object of his desire for months now. He looked less geeky than Castiel had expected, but holy wow, he was the most beautiful person Castiel had ever laid eyes on. 

He barely registered that Meg had turned back to Dean and was explaining, “He's in town for the holidays. He's also a gamer.”

Dean murmured, “Is that so?” and his smile was so blinding that Castiel almost missed that Dean was holding his hand out. He reached out to grab it and inhaled sharply at the warmth of it. Dean said, “Nice to meet you,” and it was his voice— _his voice_. 

Castiel smiled in return, opening his mouth to tell Dean who he was, that they had already met, when one of Dean’s friends slammed into him from the right, knocking him a step to the side. Castiel lost his grip on Dean's hand, and the room full of people appeared around them again. His smile dropped. 

“Deeean! There you are! Come on, they're playing our song, come dance with me!” A brunette girl with big, soulful eyes was latched onto Dean's arm, screeching in his ear. 

“Lisa, hi.” Dean righted himself and held her up by the arms so she didn't fall. How much had she had to drink already? “This is—”

Lisa interrupted, dragging him towards the stereo, where an area had been cleared and people were already stumbling around to the Pussycat Dolls, which seemed to involve all the girls wiggling their hips and the boys attempting to bump and grind. Dean turned to smile apologetically at Castiel, and he returned what he hoped was a smile, but felt more like a grimace. His stomach was clenching so hard, he was worried he’d throw up right there on the carpet. He couldn't do it—couldn't go through with it. There was no way Dean wanted to know him. His other friends were normal, happy people, or at least they looked that way from where he could see them gyrating on the dance floor. 

Swallowing down the bitter taste in his mouth, he stood up. He needed a drink. The only way he was going to get through this was to start drinking his way through Balthazar’s supplies. He started to head for the kitchen, but ran into Meg who was still standing next to him. 

“Where'd he go?” she asked, confused, and when Cas nodded towards the dancers, she frowned. “Did you tell him?”

Castiel shook his head, looking down so that he wouldn’t have to see Meg’s reaction. If she said anything else to him, the tightness in his throat might turn into something more humiliating, so he turned away and hurried into the kitchen in search of beer.

Dean looked back over his shoulder to where the blue-eyed boy had been sitting. He was gone, but a quick scan of the room found him talking to Meg by the kitchen door. Lisa pulled him around again and ground her hips against him, distracting him for a moment. She was certainly a very nice girl, very flexible… but he really wasn’t interested in hooking up with her tonight.

Instead, he’d been thoroughly distracted by Meg's friend— _Jimmy_. The name didn't seem quite right for him, with his floppy hair and black nails, and the most gorgeous blue eyes, and that little smile that he'd given Dean as their hands touched that had sent his heart racing… 

He glanced back towards the kitchen to see that Jimmy was gone, but Meg was looking in his direction, an unimpressed frown on her face. He looked back to Lisa again. 

Two songs later he excused himself from Lisa to grab a drink. The kitchen was full of people—why did they always congregate in the kitchen where there was next to no room?—but he managed to liberate two beers from the fridge and went back out to find Benny. 

His friend was lounging on a couch, his new girlfriend Andrea draped against his side. They were clearly already a few drinks in, but Benny accepted the other beer anyway, taking a long drink before saying a word. 

Dean perched on the arm of the couch, looking out over the crowd. He took a swig of his beer, just as Benny said, “You okay, brother?”

Dean glanced at him, at Andrea who was looking up at him. “I'm fine.”

Andrea smiled. “Go find him.”

Dean blinked. “Find who?”

Andrea laughed, rolling her eyes as she glanced at Benny. “Your new friend you met before. He looked so sad when Lisa dragged you away.”

Dean scoffed. “That was Meg's friend, Jimmy. He doesn't want to talk to me.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” Benny asked, grinning. “Come on, Dean, I could see the sparks flyin’ from over here. Go get ‘im.”

Dean shook his head dubiously. What was going on with him? He wasn't remotely interested in hooking up with Lisa tonight, although she seemed pretty keen by the way she kept looking over and giggling with her buddy, Amelia. All week, he'd had Angel swirling around in his head, and now he had been floored by this blue-eyed emo kid who had the most beautiful smile…

He'd never actually done anything _like that_ with a guy before, although he was surprised to find he wasn't opposed to the idea. Maybe he _could_ go find Jimmy and see what might happen. 

He stood up abruptly, walking away from Benny and Andrea, who called out behind him, “Yeah! Get it!”

The girls turned around and Lisa smiled, but Dean walked past them into the kitchen, fighting his way to the fridge to fetch two more beers. Where was Jimmy, anyway? 

He passed a set of enclosed, wooden stairs leading up to to second floor and glanced up, seeing a dark shape at the top of them. He peered up, then took the first few steps. Jimmy was sitting on the top step, his eyes closed as he leaned his head against the wall. He held a beer bottle loosely in one hand, tapping it lightly against the side of his knee. His hair fell across his right eye, and Dean could see white earphone cables running down to an iPod on the floor next to him. He looked troubled, a slight frown on his features. Dean didn't want to disturb him, so he turned to go back down, but just as he turned, Jimmy's eyes opened and he flinched, fumbling his beer bottle. It fell, bouncing down a step or two, but Dean managed to stop it with his boot before it fell all the way down to the tiled floor below. Jimmy popped out an earbud and blinked down at Dean. 

“Uh, hi. Sorry,” Jimmy said, and fuck, his voice was like a line of fire down Dean’s spine… “I can move if I'm in your way.”

Dean picked up his jaw and recovered with, “Huh?” He mentally slapped himself. 

“Do you need to get past?” Jimmy said, an uninterested look on his face now. 

Dean needed to get him to smile again. “No, no, man. I was just making sure you were okay up here. Here y’go.” He passed Jimmy one of the cold beer bottles, adding, “Good thing this one was empty.” He picked up the offending bottle and placed it to one side of the stairs. 

Jimmy looked at the bottle a moment, then took a long drink, coughing slightly as he swallowed. “Thanks. Sorry, I'm not used to drinking much,” he spluttered. 

Dean sat on the step just below Jimmy's, tucking his legs up so he could face sideways. “That's okay, me neither. We don't have a lot of parties like this around here. I guess that might change next year,” he added, realizing senior year wasn't that far away. 

Jimmy nodded.

When he didn't say more, just stared down at the bottle, Dean let his eyes wander over Jimmy's face for a moment—at his fine features, eyes outlined in black, full lips… 

“Whatcha listening to?” he asked when his eyes finally fell to the earbud dangling in Jimmy lap. 

Jimmy looked up, the striking blue of his eyes accentuated by the eyeliner, even in this low light. 

Dean gestured to the earbud. “May I?”

Jimmy nodded, passing the earbud over with a slightly shaky hand.

Dean grabbed his hand, holding it still for a moment. He was way out of his depth here, but he figured if he was gonna try flirting with a guy, might as well turn on the full charm, right? Especially if the guy seemed nervous like Jimmy certainly did. He took the offered earbud, then rubbed his thumb across Jimmy's palm reassuringly, smiling. Jimmy just stared at him, an inscrutable expression on his face. 

Dean fitted the earbud in place and flicked his eyes to Jimmy. He recognized the song immediately—Led Zeppelin's “Immigrant Song”. 

“Not what I was expecting. You like classic rock?” 

Jimmy shrugged. “I like this.” He lifted the bottle to his lips, tipping it back, and Dean watched his Adam's apple bob, fascinated. 

Dean forced himself to look away, putting his hand up to his other ear to block out the sounds of Shakira’s hips not lying from downstairs. He listened along for a little while, then he glanced back up at Jimmy again to see him watching him, a soft look on his face. 

“What, is there something on my face?” Dean asked, confused by the look. 

The soft look vanished, replaced by a cool detachment. Jimmy shrugged again. “It's just kind of strange, sitting up here listening to classic rock when there's a whole party down there.”

Dean laughed. “You started it! Anyway, kinda I like it. Don't really like crowds, y’know?”

“I do know,” Jimmy agreed. 

“So how d’you know Meg?” 

Jimmy paused for a few moments before he said, “Family friend.”

“Really? She said you were a gamer. You guys play together?”

Jimmy nodded. “Sometimes. Baldur’s Gate, bit of Moondoor—”

“Hey, I'm in Moondoor, too. Are you in our guild with Meg?”

A flash of something that might have been dismay passed over Jimmy's face, but it was gone again as he turned his face away, his hair falling over his eye. “I don't play much at the moment.” He took a long swallow of his beer, draining the end of the bottle. 

Dean wasn't sure what that was about, but he had upset Jimmy in some way, so he took the earbud out and held out his hand for Jimmy's empty bottle. “You want another?” he said as he stood up, giving him an out if he didn't want to talk any more. 

“Yes, please,” Jimmy said with a small smile. 

Dean wandered back down into the kitchen with a smile on his own face. 

Castiel flicked absently through his iPod as he waited for Dean to return. By sheer luck he'd been listening to his new Ryder-inspired playlist, and he seemed to have gotten it right so far. He'd come up here to hide and drown his sorrows, but he was surprised to find that he wasn't upset at being found at all. Dean seemed so interested to talk to him—had Meg told him who Jimmy really was? The longer he waited before mentioning anything, the more awkward it would be, but he found he was enjoying being Jimmy. Castiel was hunted, haunted. As Jimmy, he could have this, just for tonight. 

A footstep on the stairs made him look up to see Dean returning, holding several beers and a whole packet of doritos tucked under one arm. 

“Here we go. Now we don't have to go back down there.”

Castiel took two of the beers and caught the doritos when Dean dropped them. 

“Nice catch!” he said, sitting back down on the step. 

“I have good reflexes,” Castiel admitted, taking a swig of one of the new beers. 

“You sure you're not playing Moondoor at the moment? We could use someone with a good trigger finger.” Castiel's stomach dropped as Dean continued, “We've been working on this one boss, the Painmaster—you know him?”

“I know of it, yes.” He hid his dismay behind the beer bottle. How were they back on the game? 

“We’ve been working on it for like, three, four months now? Sucks so much. I'm tanking, but I'm not too sure what we're missing.” Dean munched on the chips as he spoke.

“Try three-healing it?” Castiel nearly clapped his hand over his own mouth. What the hell was he doing? 

Dean gave him a considering look, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah, I've got a friend who says just the same thing. But thing is, he's one of our two healers and he's brilliant. He could heal the whole thing on his own, I reckon, but our deeps[14] keep standing in the fire, or we get a bad meteor—boom.”

A warmth grew in Castiel's chest as Dean spoke. He was speaking earnestly, and it was clear that he had no idea who Jimmy was. His heart ached as he tried to think of something to say that wasn’t blurting out who he really was.

“There you are!”

Castiel glanced down the stairs to see Meg standing at the bottom, grinning up at them. 

“I've been looking for you two idiots. Why don't you come down and join the party? We've got jello shots!” She held up the tiny shot glasses in her hands, swaying slightly. 

“That's okay, we're just fine up here, thanks,” Dean said. 

Castiel looked over to him, surprised. 

“Suit yourself!” Meg shrugged and disappeared. 

Dean met Castiel's eyes, then held out his hand. “Earphone?”

Castiel handed it back to him and Dean shuffled closer to tuck it back into his ear. He smiled when he heard “Behind Blue Eyes”. Castiel had only been able to get the Limp Bizkit version on iTunes, but it was a pretty good cover all the same.

“You have quite a collection here.”

“I like to play this one.”

“Play it? On guitar?”

“Piano.”

And now they were on a safer topic, Castiel relaxed. The alcohol was creating a pleasant buzz in the back of his head, or was that just being with Ryder? He tried to remember the few things he'd told Ryder about his life, but there really wasn't much. He'd had to hide so much, and he hated it. 

“You in a band or something?”

Castiel turned to look at Dean in surprise. “What? No, I just had to learn as a kid, so now I just play stuff I like.” He went back to studying the label of the beer bottle. 

They were quiet for a moment and when Castiel glanced back at Dean, he was staring intently at him. He shifted. “What?”

“You went to Lawrence High, didn't you.” Dean took another swig of his beer, not looking away from Castiel. 

Shit, he recognized him? He didn't recall Dean at all from his year at the school, figuring he'd only started after Castiel had left. 

“I did, yeah.” He let his hair flop down again, not game to glance up again. 

Dean seemed to let it drop though, instead picking up the iPod from the floor between them. “What else you got on here?” 

As he started thumbing through, Castiel thanked every God that he hadn't named the new playlist “Ryder” or something equally mortifying. 

“Hey, you’ve got some great stuff on here!” Dean beamed at him and Castiel's heart wasn't going to be able to take much more of this. Between the joy of being here with Dean and the stress of his secrets, he felt he might explode at any moment. 

But moments passed, and they spent several of them listening to a variety of music, passing the iPod back and forth and commenting on one band or other, and Castiel didn't have heart failure. In fact the longer he spoke to Dean, the calmer he felt. Dean soothed him in a way he couldn't identify—he just felt like this pocket of space was all that existed, just the two of them and a song from the new Muse album. 

Castiel finished his last beer and wrinkled his nose at the sound of Nickelback drifting up the stairs. Generally Meg's music taste was fine, but he'd have to have words with her about this. 

He sighed, leaning back on his hands and closing his eyes. He was pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, like he could fall and not be hurt. Like he was just a normal boy, sitting with his gorgeous friend. Wishing truth into the words of the song, _hold me in your arms_...

The song ended and another of his favorites started, “Dark Blue”. Castiel smiled. 

“Hey, Jimmy, you reckon Muse will tour this year? We should go.”

Castiel's had a strange flipping sensation in his chest, overjoyed that Dean wanted to see a gig with him, but also crashing back to earth at his false name. An irrational anger sparked. He opened his eyes. 

“My name’s not really Jimmy.”

“What?” 

When Castiel glanced at Dean, he was looking back at him, clearly confused. 

Castiel dimly registered that he wasn’t supposed to be saying this, but fuck it. It was nice to feel so safe for a change. “It’s Cassstiel,” he slurred, focussing on the green eyes in front of his face. Dean had shuffled closer on the top step.

“Oh. Right. Why did Meg call you Jimmy?”

“Well, it's because…” Castiel's brain struggled through the haze to come up with a good reason, but it seemed his mouth was going for honesty. “I'm hiding. Can't use my real name.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “What're you hiding from? You seem like a nice guy.”

“Hah! I'm not nice, I'm shy and grumpy. What about you? I got the feeling down there that you were… friendly with the ladies.” Castiel tried to backpedal out of the conversation before he had to lie. 

“Well, yeah,” Dean laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “But just lately, I’ve found myself more… open minded.” He looked back into Castiel’s eyes, then flicked his gaze down to Castiel’s mouth. “Are you hiding from the ladies?” he murmured. 

Castiel hardly breathed, his pulse thumping in his ears. “Actually, I prefer…” He reached out the hand that wasn’t clutching his cool beer bottle and ran his fingers lightly over Dean’s cheek, the rough stubble on his fingertips sending a shiver back up his arm. He closed the distance between them and brushed Dean’s lips gently with his own, not really sure how to proceed further.

Dean lunged forward, his hand moving to the back of Castiel’s head as he pressed their lips together. He obviously had more experience at this than Castiel had, so he let him lead, opening his mouth when he felt the odd sensation of Dean’s tongue licking him. He tasted like beer and doritos and happiness. An odd rushing was in his ears, overlaying the song still playing… 

“Jesus, Winchester. Take your faggy friend to a room, will ya?”

They broke apart at the voice, both turning to look down to see who had interrupted them this time. 

Dean obviously knew the short, sandy-haired guy who stood halfway up the steps, leading a girl along behind him. “Come on, Cole, don’t be a dick about it. Fuck off and leave me and Castiel alone.” Cole… he vaguely remembered him, from before they’d moved away.

Cole’s eyes widened, flicked to meet Castiel’s. “Castiel?” 

Shit. _Shit_ , he could see the moment the recognition sunk in. Cole spun around, heading back down the stairs and leaving his erstwhile date standing on a step, saying, “Hey…?” She followed him down and around the corner towards the rest of the party. 

Castiel sat up all the way, rubbing his face. He needed to get out of there. He couldn’t for the life of him remember who Cole was through the alcoholic fog, but his cover had been blown and that sobered him up enough to know that he needed to leave. He couldn’t risk getting Dean involved in any of this.

“Cas?” Dean said tentatively, one hand finding Castiel’s arm with a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry about that asshole.”

“No, I’m sorry, Dean. I’ve had a really great night—thank you. But I need to go. I’m sorry.” The music abruptly changed as he got to his feet and the earbud fell out of his ear— _have you ever been alone in a crowded room_ replaced suddenly by Justin _bringing sexy back_. He leaned against the wall for stability while he scooped up his earphones. 

“Wait, Cas—” Dean began, but Castiel stumbled off up the corridor towards the room that he was staying in. He staggered into the wall more than once, the floor not completely stable. How many beers had he had?

Thankfully there was no one in his room as he closed the door behind him, pushing the lock in on the doorknob and taking a few steps to his bag. He tried to shove the clothes on the floor around the bag inside it, but the room seemed to be spinning around him and he swayed into the side of the bed. He scrambled up onto it, lying down just for a moment, but when the room didn’t stop spinning, he leaned over and vomited violently over the side of the bed. He coughed as he leaned back, resting his head on the mattress for just a moment.

How had his life come to this? He had just met the man who he was reasonably sure he was in love with, and he was running away from him. That kiss had been everything…everything he'd hoped it would be. He was such an asshole. A tear slipped sideways from his eye as he rolled over to grab the wire angel from the nightstand, cradling it to his chest. 

Dean was furious. Just what the fuck was Cole playing at? He had just majorly cock-blocked them, then turned tail like the piss-weak asshole he was! Where had he even gone? After Castiel had disappeared into his room and shut the door, Dean had no idea what to do. The guy had obviously been upset by what Cole had said, but storming off was a slightly stronger reaction than Dean had been expecting. He pushed the empty beer bottles over to one side of the landing, then stood up on unsteady feet to follow Cole downstairs. 

That kiss had been…eye-opening. Brilliant. He could still feel the warmth of Castiel’s hand on his cheek, the taste of beer on his tongue. He was still half-hard in his jeans, for fuck’s sake, and he had never had such an immediately physical reaction to a guy before. 

He found Cole outside on the back porch, phone in his hand. The girl he’d been with was nowhere to be seen, and it was way too cold out here for other party-goers to be out here. He grabbed Cole and slammed him backwards against the wall, holding on to his coat lapels. Cole retaliated by punching Dean hard in the stomach, making all the air whoosh out of his mouth. He doubled up in pain.

“What the fuck, Dean?” Cole demanded, as Dean tried desperately to get some air into his lungs. 

As soon as he could draw breath he hissed out, “You fucked up my night. Why’d you have to be such an asshole?”

Cole straightened his jacket, scowling. “Just looking out for you, man. You don’t want to get mixed up with a dude like that.”

Dean didn’t have time for this homophobic bullshit, but just as he was about to launch his fist at Cole again, the back door opened, spilling party guests and Meg out the back. 

“Heeeey!” Meg slurred, wobbling her way over to them. “Time for fireworks! It’sh nearly midnight, Deano!” She squinted at Cole, then turned back to Dean. “Where’sh Jimmy?”

Someone out on the lawn was flicking a lighter, and Dean could hear the fizzing of a fuse. “I dunno, I think he went to bed,” he said, the full disappointment hitting him in the chest like he’d just been punched again. 

“What, without you?” Meg asked, laughing. Her face fell when she saw Dean wince. “Oh shit, sorry.”

The first firework went up with a whoosh, followed by more. Dean watched the bright colors explode and wondered how a great night could go so wrong, so suddenly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14 deeps = DPS = damage-dealing players (usually have low health and armor, so they die quickly if hit)  [ return to text ]


	6. Chapter 6

_January 1, 2007_

Dean drank some more, sang some Singstar with Benny, took a few jello shots, puked in the bathroom, then things got hazy. He woke up on a pile of pillows in the middle of the living room, surrounded by other sleeping people. His right arm was around someone’s shoulders—Lisa was snuggled up to his side, her face soft with sleep. 

A heavy disappointment came over him as snatches of the previous night surfaced. He distinctly remembered kissing Lisa, and deciding it wasn’t as good as when he’d kissed Jimmy. He might have even told her that, although it now seemed like she hadn’t taken offense. He rubbed his free hand across his face and yawned, frowning at the awful taste in his mouth. He needed water. 

He extricated his other arm from under Lisa, trying not to disturb her, but she blinked awake anyway. 

She rubbed at one eye as she looked up at him and smiled. “Hey, Dean.” 

“Mornin’,” he replied, then got up and away from there as quickly as he could without stepping on someone. He liked Lisa, he really did, but his heart was full of Jimmy. No, _Castiel_. That’s what Jimmy had said his name was, before they’d kissed, wasn’t it? Dean shook his head in confusion. He’d make sure Castiel was all right this morning, then back away. He guessed he’d never see him again after this, anyway.

The kitchen was empty, but covered top to floor in empty bottles and dirty plates. The stink of stale beer was heavy in the air, and he gulped down water from the tap to try to chase away the headache behind his eyes. 

Carefully checking the living room again, he realized Benny and Andrea had gone, either home or upstairs, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter, Castiel wasn't around either, and he suddenly needed to be out of there. 

At home, he thought he would have been too early for Sam or their mom to be up yet, until he walked into the kitchen and his mom was sitting at the table, bleary-eyed and nursing a coffee. 

He got past her with only a “Happy New Year” and a few murmured disapproving words and headed up to his room, dropping back into his bed for a few more hours of sleep.

When he eventually surfaced later, he had an awful headache. He stumbled through a shower and found some painkillers, but his mom and Sammy were playing some god-awful game on the new console Sammy had got for Christmas—a Wii or some other dumb name. He went and hid in the computer room. 

Only a couple of guildies were online when he logged on, one of them being Charlie. 

> Queenie: Hey :) happy new year duude  
>  Niteryder: hey yourself. Can't believe it's 2007  
>  Queenie: I know! How was your night?  
>  Niteryder: it sucked ass. And no, not in a fun way  
>  Queenie: sorry to hear that.

Dean hesitated, needing to unburden himself. He knew Charlie liked girls, so why was he finding this so hard? 

> Niteryder: Charlie? How'd you know you were into girls?  
>  Queenie: whoa, that's a topic for new years day!  
>  Queenie: I guess it must have been when I realized I liked them a lot more than cock.

Dean huffed his frustration as he typed out a few words and deleted them again. 

> Queenie: what's going on Dean?  
>  Niteryder: I'm still into chicks.. But last night, I met this guy, he was so nice. We kissed, Charlie.. What's wrong with me?  
>  Queenie: whoa Dean! Absolutely nothing wrong. Bisexuality is a thing that exists, totally fine for you to feel that way! 

Dean stared at the screen. Bisexual? Is that what he was? He’d thought guys attractive before, but never actually wanted to act on it. Until Jimmy. Until _Castiel_.

> Niteryder: this guy… he’s got the bluest eyes i ever saw. And his voice… He has this weird name, sounded spanish or something. Castiel.  
>  Queenie: Nah, not Spanish, hebrew maybe. Lemme look it up.  
>  Queenie: it's an angel.

Dean had to read that last message a few times before he could reply.

> Niteryder: Angel?  
>  Queenie: Yeah, you know, wings, harp?  
>  Queenie: Castiel: angel of thursday

Dean's mind went into some kind of holding pattern for a moment. He flashed back to last night, snatches of conversations ringing in his ears: 

_“Dean, this is an old friend of mine...”_

_“Try three-healing it?”_

_“I’m hiding. Can’t use my real name.”_

“Fuck,” he muttered, aloud. Castiel was… Thorsangel? The angel of Thursday—what were the chances that it was a coincidence? He'd _kissed Angel_ and he hadn't even known? 

But had he known who Dean was? Meg certainly knew him—surely she wouldn't have had them meet without knowing. What kind of fucked up sociopath would do such a thing? 

He sat back from the computer, barely registering Charlie’s message asking if he was okay. Meg… he had to talk to her. And if Cas… _Angel_ was still there at her place…

He logged out of the game and dashed upstairs to find his phone, flicking open the clamshell and thumbing through his contacts until he found Meg’s number. He wasn’t even sure why he had her number in here anyway, but at this moment he was glad he did.

“Deano?” Meg’s voice was tired.

“Meg, what the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me Jimmy...Cas...who the fuck ever was _Angel_?”

“Whoa, whoa! What’re you talking about?”

Dean took a breath to try to calm his suddenly white-hot anger. “Meg, don’t fuck around with me. Castiel is Thorsangel. Yes or no?”

“Okay, so the answer is yes. But before you shoot me, he asked me not to tell you. He said he’d tell you himself, which I guess he has, right? Are you guys at your place?”

Dean blinked, confused. “What? No, _I’m_ at my place. He’s with you, isn’t he?”

“No, I haven’t seen him yet. I mean, he does like to sleep all day, but it’s unlike him to leave me with all this cleaning up to do.” Meg stopped her muttering and Dean could hear footsteps. “Door’s locked.” She called out, away from the phone, “Clarence?”

Clarence? Dean rubbed his eyes with his thumb and fingers of one hand. Just how many freaking names did this guy have, anyway?

“Hang on, this door doesn’t…” Dean heard a loud crunch and a thud.

“Meg? You still there?” Dean could hear her swearing in the background. “Meg! Pick up the damn phone!”

After a few seconds, there was a rustling on the line and Meg’s voice came through again. “Sorry, Deano, the door doesn’t close properly, but I dropped the phone when I busted through. He’s not here. There’s a big pile of mostly dried sick on the floor next to the bed, and the fucking window is open so it’s cold as hell.”

Dean was confused. “He locked the door from the outside?”

Meg was breathing faster, sounding concerned. “No, it’s just a push-lock. Jesus that smells disgusting. There’s… fucking footprints between there and the window. My mom is going to murder me.”

“Are… are you saying he climbed out the window?”

“His stuff’s still here. Maybe...”

Dean paused for a moment, then his brain caught up with what she might be implying. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe he didn’t go willingly.”

“No. No way in hell. Why the fuck would someone kidnap a nearly grown man out a fucking second-story window?”

Meg’s voice sounded scared now. “Deano, there are things you don’t know…about his family, his past. I…I can’t explain. Look, just don’t worry about it. I’ll find him.”

“What do you mean, don’t worry?! I want to help!” A small part of him wondered if Castiel really considered him a friend at all—apparently he still didn’t know anything about the guy. Maybe he should give up, let Meg deal with it. He was getting sick of being kept in the dark the whole damn time.

Meg replied, “No, it’s better if you stay out of this.”

Something Cole had said last night popped back into his mind, _You don’t want to get mixed up with a dude like that._ Just what was Castiel hiding?

“Meg, I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

“No can do. Sorry, Dean.” The line went dead.

Dean snapped his phone shut, his fingers numb. Angel was mixed up in something, but he had literally no clue where to start. Of course there was also the possibility that Meg was delusional and he had just taken off early, back home to wherever in Illinois he came from, if that was even true. 

Dean lay back on his bed, covering his face with his hands. Had their whole friendship been a lie? Was he actually from Illinois? Why the hell had Cole run off like that when he saw him? Nothing made sense.

No, there was one thing that had made sense, and that was the connection that they had definitely had last night. He’d never looked into someone else’s eyes like that and felt electricity down to his toes. And that had been _Angel_? He still couldn’t believe it. 

Not to do anything to try to help find him was against every instinct he had, but he had literally nothing to go on. He’d have to let Meg deal with whatever was going on for now. Maybe he could go over and corner her after work tomorrow, find out what had happened. 

Back downstairs, he spent the afternoon playing Wii with Sam, and running a few casual dungeons with Charlie a little later. When she asked about earlier, he played it down, keeping whatever had happened to Castiel quiet. There was no sign of Thorsangel online, but he was never far from Dean’s mind.

_January 2, 2007_

The following morning was barely light, the dull, grey clouds creating a dreary atmosphere over Lawrence. Dean’s mom dropped him at the garage early, and he was looking forward to getting some work done on the Impala to take his mind off his other worries.

There had been no word from Meg, even after Dean had let his impatience get the better of him and had sent her messages on both Moondoor and to her phone. He’d given up and got a fitful night’s sleep, and now he was just pissed at her. He’d go find her after work.

He said bye to his mom and headed up the salted driveway, past the long line of pine trees along the edge of the lot. A sleek, black car was parked out front of the workshop—not their usual clientele.

As Dean shrugged off his coat and scarf just inside the door, he noticed Bobby chatting with a man in a black suit and tie over near his office space. Dean’s eyes were drawn to movement in the back doorway of the garage as Ed walked in, followed by Cole. When Cole saw Dean there, he ducked away from eye contact and murmured something to his dad, heading out the front of the workshop without speaking to Dean. Ed headed over to where Dean stood, a grim smile on his face. Dean greeted him with a nod.

“Happy New Year, Deano. The feds are here this morning. Just a routine check, I’m sure. But just so you know, it’s up to Bobby ‘n me to tell them about our business, not you. You got me?” Ed loomed threateningly, but since Dean was actually the same height, that didn’t work so well.

Dean nodded anyway. It wasn’t worth antagonizing Ed, especially after what had happened with Alfie. “Yes sir.”

“Good. Now don’t head out back until after they’ve left. You can give me a hand with this camshaft.” He gestured to the old Honda to Dean's right, which was already hood-up, engine guts scattered around on the floor. 

Dean eyed the FBI agent as he helped Ed fix the engine. The guy didn't look upset, just chatted to Bobby impassively and occasionally jotted something down in a notebook. 

“Hey, Winchester.” 

Dean snapped his attention back to Ed and took the weight of the camshaft while Ed fiddled with the new parts. When he finally fitted it back into place in the engine, someone cleared their throat behind him. 

“Mister Trenton, mind if I have a chat with your apprentice, here?” The FBI agent was smiling politely. 

Dean glanced over at Bobby, but he was engrossed in something at his desk. 

“I don't think that's really necessary. He's a good worker, don't cause trouble, right Dean?”

Dean opened and shut his mouth, confused by the praise from Ed. 

The agent stepped towards the door. “Oh, it'll only take a minute. Would you mind just stepping this way?” 

“Uh, sure.” Dean glanced at Ed to see him glaring daggers at him. 

They moved away to the far side of the workshop, Dean burning up with curiosity. The man turned to look at him. “Dean, was it?” He continued as Dean nodded. “I'm Agent Henriksen. You work here full-time?”

“No, sir. Just more over the holidays. School starts next week.”

The agent nodded, speaking quietly so the others couldn't hear. “I'm here investigating a number of car thefts in the area. Think carefully—have any vehicles come into the workshop here that you felt might have been… suspicious?”

Dean tried hard not to glance over at Ed before he answered. The guy had clearly been taken by surprise by the agent's visit, but given what Bobby had told him a few weeks ago, he should probably keep the cars in the back shed under wraps. 

“No. Bobby is trusted around here. We have plenty of repeat customers.”

“Okay. So you haven't seen a new-looking Audi come through here?”

Dean tried his best not to flinch. “No, sir. Mostly beat-up old lemons in here,” he added with a weak chuckle. 

The agent flashed a grin. “Right. Well if you remember anything, or see anything you wanna share, here's my card.” He handed it over as he continued, “And just for my records, what’s the last name there, Dean?”

“Winchester.”

The agent's eyebrows rose. “Winchester? Hey, you aren't John's boy, are you?”

Dean blinked, surprised. “Yes?”

The agent's face broke into a genuine smile. “Well, look at you, all grown up. Last time I saw you you were yea high.” He held his hand out next to his hip. “How's your mom doing these days?”

Dean shifted, uncomfortable. “She's okay. Working hard.”

“That's not surprising with two growing boys to feed. How old’s your brother now?”

“Thirteen.” 

The agent blew a breath out through pursed lips. “Doesn't time fly?”

“You knew my dad?” Dean had never met anyone who knew much about his dad, and his mom didn't ever want to tell him much. 

The agent’s face sobered. “I did, yes. Too sad, what happened to him. In fact, you should watch your step. If this place is hiding what I think it is… After that nasty business, you don't want to be involved.”

Dean chuckled. The guy must be confused. “Uh, my dad died from a heart attack.”

The agent winced. “Oh right, my bad. You might like to ask your mom about that sometime, though.”

Dean opened his mouth to ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, but the agent kept talking. “Like I said, call me if there's anything. I'll see you ‘round, Dean. Best wishes to your mom.”

He nodded and winked, then turned to call to the others, “Thanks, Mister Trenton, Mister Singer. Please call me if anything comes up.”

Bobby and Ed called out goodbyes and the agent headed out. Dean wandered back over to the Honda, lost in thought. Was the agent implying that his dad hadn't had a heart attack? How would he even have known an FBI agent? 

Ed looked up at his approach. “All good?”

“Yeah, apparently he knew my dad.” Dean said, still wondering just what had happened. 

The scowl on Ed’s face knocked him out of his reverie. “You'd better lose that card, boy.”

Dean swallowed, wondering just how far Ed might go if Dean tried to turn him in. He nodded. “Yes sir.”

“I can finish up in here now. I've got someone interested in your project. They’re comin’ by tomorrow. How's she looking?”

Dean stepped back from the Honda. “She's pretty good, body work is done, she runs well. I'm just finishing the electricals.”

“Good. Well, hop to it.” Ed watched Dean, his arms crossed, but before Dean left, Ed held out his hand. “The card.”

Dean pulled the card out of his pocket and dropped it into Ed’s hand. “Dunno what you're so worried about. There's nothing to tell.”

“That's right, and you just remember that.” Ed put the card in his own pocket and turned back to the car’s engine. 

Dean glanced at Bobby on his way out the back, but the old man just sat, scowling under his eyebrows. 

As soon as Dean had shouldered into his coat and left the main workshop, he pulled out his phone and checked no one else was around. He frantically typed the number he'd tried to memorize from the card into his phone, saving it into his contacts as “H”. He couldn't even remember the agent's name apart from the first initial. His heart hammered in his chest as he hurried up the icy path to the back shed. 

He pulled the dust cover off the shiny Impala and climbed into her front seat, coat and all, just to sit in a quiet space for a few moments. He breathed the smell of grease and old leather, the feel of solid steel beneath his boots. 

As his heartbeat calmed, he allowed his mind to drift back to the FBI agent, to his comments about his dad, to Ed’s reaction. Did he have the courage to call the agent back and confess that he knew something? But without proof, Ed would never be caught and Dean could put himself in the firing line, which was one thing, but Bobby, or even Mom or Sam… No, he couldn't do that until he had something more solid, something to get Ed put away for a long time. 

He looked at the wires dangling from the car’s dash, and wondered all over again who she had belonged to, if someone was missing her. Dean had only been working on her just over a week now, but she'd become his baby—he was proud of how she’d turned out. He'd be sad to see her go to a buyer. 

He needed to get some of this wiring done at least. Breathing a heavy sigh, he got to work.

Dean’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He jerked awake, opening and closing his eyes a few times while he tried to work out where he was. It was dark, but a faint light came through a window. He stared at it for a few moments before he realized that the leather he felt under his fingers was the smooth front seat of the Impala. 

A song was playing on the car radio. After a moment he recognized it as one of the songs he’d heard on New Year’s Eve—“Chasing Cars”, or something. 

He’d finished wiring the dash, fixed up the radio and lay down on the front seat to listen for a little while. He must still have been tired from the other night, and someone must have come in and turned the shed lights out, for it to be so dark. He looked at the time on his phone—four-thirty. Rolling onto his back on the bench seat, he rubbed at his face, surprised he’d slept for so long. 

The chorus of the song swelled, and he remembered where he’d heard it—Castiel’s iPod. He was still finding it hard to believe that Angel was a real person, and that he was Castiel at that—someone obviously so full of life and character so different from his secretive online presence. He had recognized him from school, he was pretty sure. Although back then he’d been different—just a shy, nerdy kid without the floppy hair and guyliner. _If I just lay here…_

And he’d kissed him! He’d never spoken to Angel about girlfriends, let alone boyfriends, other than maybe Lisa a time or two. But the kiss had been amazing. He wanted more. Well, wherever Angel was, Dean hoped he was okay. _Would you lie with me and just forget the world?_

His phone buzzed again. “Dean?” His mom sounded worried when he answered. 

“Yeah, I’m just still at work. Big day, sorry.”

Relief colored her voice. “Oh, okay. It’s fine, it’s just Sammy and I are ordering pizza and wanted to know if you’ll be home.”

“It’s okay, Mom, I’ll get something later.”

“Kay. Love you, bye!”

“Bye Mom.” Dean closed his phone with a snap and looked at it for a moment, remembering that he was going to have to ask her about his dad at some point. He wasn’t looking forward to that, but at the same time, now he had to know.

The biting cold made his hands ache as he moved them, and while he was glad to have kept his winter coat on, he really should get inside to warm up. He got out of the car and stretched out his back, then replaced the dust cover on the car, idly hoping that the potential buyer wouldn’t be looking for something like this.

Outside, the wind was bitter. Dean trudged across the yard, nearly tripping on something lying across the driveway. He squinted down at it in the fading light—a power cord? Why would there be an extension cord lying across the drive? He looked along the length of it— one end to the workshop and the other into the small storage shed on the other side of the yard. There was nothing in there that required mains power, so occasionally they ran extension cords out there, but at this late hour? Dean followed the cord along until he was standing outside the shed. There was a light on inside, and the door was slightly ajar to let the extension cord snake through.

“Bobby? That you?” he called, pushing the door open to let himself in. 

He froze, taking in the scene in front of him. A battery-powered lamp hung from a rafter, casting a dim light over the room. On a chair in the center of the room, his hands tied behind him and a rag tied across his mouth, was Castiel. His face was bruised and bleeding, and he was still wearing the jeans and Fall Out Boy t-shirt from New Year’s Eve, although it was barely visible under a large faux-fur-lined coat hanging open across his chest.

“Cas?” Dean breathed. 

As Dean rushed over to him, Cas made a muffled sound that Dean couldn’t make out, but his eyes were wide and terrified. Clearly the space heater than was plugged into the end of the extension cable wasn’t doing a whole lot to warm things up because Cas was visibly shaking. Dean made short work of the knot at the back of Cas’ head, pulling the gag off. 

Cas’ mouth was barely free when he started babbling, “D-Dean, what’re you d-doing here? They’ll be b-back any moment, you have to g-g-get out of here, please!”

Dean thought he could ask Cas the same question, but there would be time for that later. He kneeled on the floor next to the chair, pushing the coat closed and taking Cas’ face in his hands. The coat was slightly damp. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. I’m getting you out. I’ve got you, Angel.”

Castiel stopped talking and stared at him, open-mouthed. “You...you know? How…?”

“Eh, I’m not just a pretty face,” Dean said with a cocky grin. He looked down at Cas’ hands. “They used a cable tie? Jesus, that must hurt.”

“I c-can’t really f-f-feel my hands.”

“Shit. Okay.” He tried to rub some warmth into Cas’ hands, but his own hands were so cold that he gave up. “I’ll just have to find something to cut the tie with. Hang on.” He stood up, trying to stomp some warmth into himself. 

A crunch of gravel outside made them both freeze and turn to look frantically at each other.

Castiel whispered, “Go!” but Dean shook his head. There was no way he was letting them get near Cas without a fight. The footsteps were getting closer and Dean realized he had no weapon and no idea who or what was coming, and also no time to find anything. 

Dean grabbed the gag from where it had fallen to the floor, and tied it loosely around Castiel’s mouth. He barely dived behind a floor-to-rafters shelf before the door creaked open again. 

Two people walked into the room. Dean crouched behind the shelving, trying to make himself as small as he could. The shelf was packed tight with boxes of random parts and dirty rags, and despite it being open on both sides there were no gaps to see through. 

“Evening, Castiel.” Dean tried hard not to make a sound as he recognized Ed’s voice. “I've brought you something to eat, but don't get too comfortable. The boss is on his way, and then we'll work out what we're gonna do with you.”

Castiel wondered how his day could possibly get any worse. 

He'd been stolen, tied up, water dumped on his head, punched in the face when he tried to fight back, and left alone, hungover and thirsty as hell in this freezing cold storage shed for the whole day. He had no idea where he was, or who these people were, or what they wanted, although he suspected it was related to his father's work. All he knew was that they'd found the angel Dean had made for him clutched in his hand, and they'd put it on the shelf next to where he sat, wings bent and back bowed. His feet and hands had been secured so he couldn't move around even if he wasn't frozen to the spot. 

And then Dean had appeared, like some kind of freaking shining knight. He had no idea how he'd found him, but he wished with all his might that he'd never met Niteryder and got him mixed up in whatever this was. 

One of the men standing before him now was Dean's friend from the other night, Cole. Castiel recognized him now—he had been in the grade below him and Meg in middle school, before the move. He remembered him as a quiet kid, but his sneer revealed a mean streak. He held a plate with a sandwich on it. Castiel could smell it from here, and it made his mouth water. 

The older man was unknown to him—medium height with a slight paunch on him—but he'd been the one to bring him here and tie him up.

The man moved closer to Castiel, walking behind his back and fiddling with the gag behind his head, less gently than Dean had. He prayed that the man wouldn't notice that it had just been retied. 

He scoffed. “Jesus, kid, you tied this so badly it was nearly undone already! Why the hell did I let you come along?”

“Sorry, Dad,” Cole muttered. His father, was it? Cas couldn't do anything with this information yet, but he filed it away for later. He hoped there would be a later. 

Cole’s dad pulled the gag away and Cole started to feed the sandwich to Castiel, but he only got a few bites in before the dry peanut butter made him feel sick. “I don't want any more, thank you.”

“So polite! Give him a drink, son.”

Cole gave him a sip of water from a straw, and replaced the glass on the shelf near Castiel. 

A phone buzzed, and Cole’s dad fished an old Nokia out of his pocket. “Yeah?” he answered gruffly. “Right. I'll be out in a minute.”

He hung up and turned to Cole. “That's them. Keep him quiet.”

He left, letting a cold blast of air in through the door. At least it wasn't snowing. 

Castiel turned his attention to Cole. “C-Cole, isn't it?” He clamped his jaw together for a few moments trying to stop the shuddering in his limbs. “Why are you d-doing this?”

“Shut up, faggot,” Cole spat, turning away. 

“I haven't d-done anything. Why are you keeping me here?” he asked, hoping Dean could hear. He worried what Dean must think of him right now.

“I said, shut up!” He spun around and slapped Castiel in the face, making him gasp at the white-hot sting on his cold skin. 

“Just wait until Alastair gets here. He'll sort you out. He's a real mean SOB. He'll get ya for all those people you hurt.”

Castiel was speechless for a moment. People he'd hurt? Was it possible that they'd kidnapped the wrong person? But they knew his name. 

Cole came around behind him and tied up the gag again, tightly this time. Ice spread through his core as it finally sunk in what Cole had said about Alastair. Alastair Ivy, the criminal mastermind behind the crime ring his dad had exposed, all those years ago. He only knew the name because of his dad's article, and he knew that Cole wasn’t wrong about him being mean and ruthless.

He sure hoped Dean had a plan to get them out of this, because he wasn't seeing any light at the end of this long, dark tunnel. 

Cole paced back and forth for a few minutes, but soon footsteps came back towards the shed. The door opened to admit a tall man with a gaunt, hollow-eyed face, his slacks and warm coat giving a more suburban-dad look than psychopath. A woman entered behind him in a dark maroon power-suit, contrasting against her dark skin. Cole’s dad closed the door behind him as he came through, hovering at the back. 

“We brought him in just as you asked, Mister Ivy,” Cole’s dad simpered, as Alastair looked Castiel over. 

“Why’s he still alive?” Alastair's voice was oily and whiney, and oddly tense, like he might rip Castiel apart as soon as look at him. 

If Cole hadn't been standing right behind Alastair, Castiel might have missed the flinch—the shock that passed over Cole’s face at Alastair's words. Cole hadn't expected that. Castiel wondered again just what his dad had told him. 

Cole’s dad backpedaled, obviously thrown off track. “Uh, we thought you might like to ransom—” 

Alastair interrupted, “I’m in the business of revenge here, Ed. I’m not interested in money. Cut off part of him and send it to his father.”

Castiel’s blood ran cold. Up until now he’d had no idea what they wanted him for, but now they were threatening real torture, or worse? He had to get out of this. He struggled weakly, but his hands hurt when he moved them, and his feet were still secured to the chair legs. 

Alastair’s other associate, the woman in the suit, reached down, hiked up the side of her skirt and pulled a long, wicked-looking knife from a sheath along her thigh. She flipped it around, grabbing the handle as it spun again, and again, as she moved closer to Castiel. 

His breath was coming faster, his heart beating a staccato rhythm as he strained to move away from the point of the knife. 

There was a crash from behind the shelves. No… _Dean!_

They all looked up, startled. Alastair jerked his head towards the shelves, and Ed ducked around them. A muffled shout came, followed by the shelf rattling as something was shoved against it. Ed emerged from behind the shelf, Dean in front of him with his arm twisted up behind his back in a sickeningly awkward angle. His face was scrunched up in pain and his breaths were short.

“Well hello! Who do we have here? A little mouse in the walls? Or is it a rat?” Alastair purred, his eyes raking over Dean in a way that made Castiel’s skin crawl. 

“Dean Winchester. One of my staff. Staying a little after hours tonight, are we boy?” Ed spat, then worked his jaw where Castiel guessed Dean had punched him.

“Winchester, eh? You’re not John’s boy, by any chance?” 

Dean scowled at Alastair as he hissed out, “Why does everyone suddenly know me and my dad?”

“No, I don't know you, but I knew your daddy and he was a snitch, just like you. The apple doesn't fall far from the ol’ tree, now does it, Dean?”

Dean struggled in Ed’s grasp, but Ed just twisted his arm harder, making Dean gasp in pain. 

Alastair said, “Phone?”

Ed blinked and looked down at where he was holding Dean. “Uh, kinda got my hands full.”

Alastair sighed, then looked to Cole where he was standing against the far wall, probably trying to melt into it. He looked terrified. “You,” Alastair said. “Find his phone.”

Cole came forward and tentatively reached into Dean’s coat pockets, then his jeans pockets. Dean squirmed away, saying, “Easy there, tiger,” with a pained grin and wink. Cole frowned at him and held up Dean's phone. 

Alastair held out his hand, and as soon as Cole handed it over, he dropped it to the concrete floor and stomped on it, hard. Bits of plastic scattered across the floor.

“We'll deal with them now, then get out of here before whoever he called to come rescue him shows up. I'm bored of this. Raphi, kill them both.”

The woman pulled a pistol from somewhere else on her person and pointed it at Castiel, just as Cole said, “No, wait!” and Dean tried to throw himself out of Ed’s grip. 

A voice floated in Castiel’s mind for just a moment. _All it takes is one slip-up, kid. One person you let in to the truth, and it could all fall apart._ Victor had told him that, before he left them in Pontiac with new identities and plenty of warnings. _I'm so sorry,_ he wanted to tell Dean. But Dean wasn’t watching him.

It was like something out of a freaking action movie, and even though he was pretty sure his shoulder was dislocated right now, Dean was _living_. He’d tried to stay as quiet as he could as he frantically texted the FBI agent behind the shelf, praying that he’d remembered the number right. He’d flinched when the big bad guy, Alastair or whatever, had mentioned cutting off parts of Castiel, and that had got him into this mess. At least he’d managed to get a swing at Ed’s jaw before he’d been flipped and yanked upright by his arm. Man, that punch had felt good.

Now suddenly there was a gun pointed at Castiel, and Dean had fully intended to throw himself out of Ed’s grip to either tackle the woman or protect Cas, but was distracted by a flash of light on something shiny outside the door, two seconds before the door itself was thrown open. The FBI Agent, brandishing a pistol himself, burst through first, shouting something about dropping the weapon and getting on the ground. Instead, the woman spun around, firing her gun right at him. 

The gunshot was deafening in the small space, and above the ringing in his ears, Dean could hear shouting, more shots. Ed dropped his arm and Dean fell to the floor, scrabbling around behind Castiel to try to pull his chair back out of the way. As his hearing faded back in, Dean realized someone had been shot. He could hear screams of pain, smell the tang of iron and gunpowder on the air. He scanned the shelf for something to cut Castiel’s bonds with, but everything was inside boxes and out of reach. He pulled the chair as far from the action as he could with his uninjured arm, and tried to work out what was going on.

The FBI agent Dean had spoken to earlier that day was sitting on top of Ed, who had obviously been punched a few times but not otherwise injured. Alastair was lying in a pool of blood, face down on the floor of the shed. The tall woman Alastair had called Raphi was gone, presumably got away, but Cole was being held by another man in a suit with blood all down one arm from where he’d been shot. Cole’s arms were behind his back and a look of devastation on his face. 

Dean got carefully to his feet, wincing as he moved his shoulder. He turned to scan the shelves again and spied a set of pliers with a wirecutter. He made short work of the cable ties holding Castiel’s hands and feet in place, then cast the pliers aside and grabbed Castiel’s hands, trying to rub the blood back into them, but he had to stop when he ended up with pain shooting up his arm.

“It’s okay, I’m f-fine. Go and help V-Victor,” Cas stuttered out, tucking his hands inside his coat. 

Victor—that was his name!—had finished fitting handcuffs on Ed’s hands and had got to his feet again. Dean could see Victor was eyeing off Alastair’s prone body, and when the guy squatted to check for a pulse, the room started to spin around Dean. He wondered why the floor was coming up to meet him, before it all went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No footnotes in this chapter.
> 
> Everything's going to be okay, though. I'm just explaining this because you look nervous.


	7. Chapter 7

_January 2, 2007_

Someone was moving him—jostling him enough that a stabbing jolt of pain ripped through his shoulder again.

“Hey, be careful with his shoulder!”

 _That’s a nice voice_ , Dean thought, as he drifted in and out of a hazy stasis. 

“I’m just working out whether it’s dislocated or something worse. Just like…” a different voice, one he didn’t recognize, said quietly, then his arm was lifted slowly and something _moved_ in his shoulder. The pain was slightly less after that, thank goodness.

“Castiel, isn’t it? You can ride in the ambulance with us. I’d like to get someone to look you over as well.” That was a different voice, one Dean didn’t recognize. But he knew that name…Castiel. That was…Jimmy. No…it was…

“Angel?” he murmured. He must have said it aloud, because he heard Cas’ voice again beside his head. 

“I’m here, Dean. It’s okay, we’re—”

Dean lost the rest of what Cas said because he tried to raise his head, and the movement sent a jolt of blinding pain through his shoulder again. He cried out, flopping his head down again.

“Hold on, Dean. Here’s something more for the pain. We’ll have you fixed up in no time,” the other nice voice said. Something was placed over his nose and mouth, and he inhaled involuntarily. 

And then all his worries floated away. He mulled over the chances—what was the likelihood that the most beautiful person he’d ever met would also turn out to be his best online friend? The person he had been having thoughts about before he even knew what those thoughts meant? It was crazy! Someone up there was definitely looking out for him.

Dean was only aware of snatches of the trip from the auto shop to the hospital, but there was the constant warm pressure of Cas’ hand holding his, and the flash of a smile or a worried glint in his dark blue eyes. Everything else was background noise to Dean—even his shoulder was comfortably warm.

He was aware of being jostled out of the ambulance, then helped to sit upright in a chair. He moved down the hospital halls without walking, and he blinked around himself in confusion for a moment before he let out a snort of laughter when he realized he was sitting in a wheelchair. He’d laughed more when Cas and the doctor who was helping him exchanged confused looks. 

The doctor examined his shoulder and took x-rays as his head started to clear, but it seemed the shoulder had only been dislocated and not fractured. The guy smiled at him kindly. “You’ll need to rest and look after this for a week or two, okay? I’ll give you a sling to immobilize it, but you’ll need to make sure you give it time to heal.”

“Yes sir,” he said, with a wry grin. “Guess I’m on vacation.”

“You won’t be going back to that place!” his mom said as she bustled into the room. She came right over and grabbed Dean in an awkward hug around the head, making him hiss in pain. 

The doctor said, “Uh, ma’am, please be gentle?”

“Sorry, sorry. I just… I came as soon as Victor called me.” She stepped back and looked him over, her face a panicky mess of smudged eyeliner. “Are you okay? What did they do to you?”

“Mom, I”m fine! It’s him you need to be asking after.” Dean’s eyes flicked over to Castiel, who was sitting on another bed, a doctor dabbing at the cuts on his face. Cas glanced over and met Dean’s eyes, giving him a smile that was all in his eyes. 

The doctor brought over a thin square of cloth and folded it, fastening it around Dean’s arm so that it was held tight against his body. “There are fancier ones of these that you can get, but this will do for now. Try not to move it, or hug anyone, okay?”

“Thanks, Doc,” Dean told him with a smile, and he left with a nod to Dean’s mom.

His mom eyed Castiel again. “Dean, who is that? What happened to you both?”

Castiel was on his feet when Dean glanced over again, coming towards them. As he approached, he tilted his head so that his dark hair fell away from his eyes. Those intense, gorgeous blue eyes. “Hello, Dean,” he said, coming to a stop.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean smiled back, then shuffled over on the bed so there was room for Cas to sit as well. “Sorry, Cas, this is my mom, Mary Winchester. Mom, this is Castiel.”

Cas reached out a hand to shake Dean’s mom’s, as she murmured, “Nice to meet you.”

Dean wondered how best to start explaining things. Might as well start at the beginning. “We, uh, know each other from Moondoor, but we just met in person at the party the other night.”

Mary looked confused for a few moments, then her eyebrows rose. “Oh, the game you and Sam play? I see. Do you live around here, Castiel?”

Cas glanced at Dean, then said, “No, I’m from Illinois. I was actually visiting my friend, Meg.” That voice… Dean still couldn’t believe he’d been kept from hearing it for so long.

Mary glanced between them again. “Look, whatever you two are involved in here, I won’t be mad, okay? Just be honest, and we’ll get out of this mess.”

“Mom, it’s okay. They got Ed, right? And that other guy, who got shot? Hey, is Bobby okay?”

Dean’s mom’s eyes went wide again. “Okay, whoa, back up. Someone was shot?”

“We got the bad guys, yeah.” At the sudden new voice, Dean looked up to see the FBI agent walking over. “And Mister Singer is fine. Slept right through the whole thing.” A smear of blood streaked across his cheek and another down the side of his combat vest, but he looked unharmed. He smiled at Dean's mom as he approached. “How are you, Missus Winchester?”

“Please, it's Mary. Forgive me, you're…” Mary broke off, confused. 

The agent kept grinning as he looked at his feet for a moment. “I was a lot younger last time we met. Victor Henriksen, FBI.”

Dean eyed the two of them warily, trying to remember if the guy had said _how_ he'd known his parents. 

Before he could ask, Victor turned to Cas. “Jimmy. Wish I could have seen you again under better circumstances.”

Dean turned to stare at Cas as he winced, then said, “You can call me Castiel again now, I guess. They already know that part.”

Dean wasn't sure if it was the painkillers in his system or if the room really was starting to spin. “Okay, what is going on here? How do you—”

“It's okay, Dean,” Victor interrupted. “We can explain everything, if Castiel here is willing?” He turned to look at Cas. 

Castiel looked like a rabbit in headlights for a moment. “Yes, I can explain some of it.” He took a deep breath, and Dean longed to reach out a hand to reassure him, but he wasn't quite sure where they stood with that sort of thing right now. 

Cas glanced at Dean, then spoke softly, hesitant at first. “My name is Castiel James Shurley. In 1993, my father published a story in the newspaper outing the leaders of a crime syndicate in the state. They were arrested. Then three years ago, Alastair Ivy was released.” He turned back to Dean. “You met him tonight. The guy who told them to kill us.”

Dean's mom gasped, but Dean felt like he was finally putting pieces together. “So he had you kidnapped to get back at your dad?”

Cas nodded, but Victor spoke before Cas could elaborate.

“When Alastair was released, he directly threatened Castiel's family. I helped to move them out and to start a new life in Illinois. Castiel became Jimmy Novak, although it sounds like that's not as much of a secret as it used to be.” He gave Castiel a look, and Cas just shrugged.

Dean huffed impatiently. The painkillers were starting to wear off already, and his shoulder ached with a dull burn. “Okay, so that’s part of the story, but what about the fact that both you and this, uh, Alastair character apparently knew Dad?” His eyes flicked from Victor to his mom. 

Victor turned to Dean’s mom with a questioning look.

She took a deep breath, then faced Dean. He’d never seen her look so...so scared, he supposed. So sad.

“Your father didn’t die of a heart attack, Dean,” she began. 

“Yeah, I was starting to guess that,” he said with a chuckle, his stomach churning with apprehension. 

“He was originally part of Alastair’s syndicate. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but...once you’re in that life, there’s no getting out. But once you were born, Dean, he tried to leave. He even worked with the FBI for a while,” she nodded to Victor, “helping to...flush out the leaders.” 

Dean glanced at Castiel, who looked enthralled by the story. He wondered if their fathers had ever had the opportunity to meet. 

Mary continued, “Somehow, it was discovered that he’d been talking with someone. The syndicate...” She trailed off and looked to the floor, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Dean’s mouth fell open. Guess that explained what Alastair had meant by calling him a snitch. 

“He was murdered,” Victor said, bluntly. “Far as we can tell, they stopped him as he was driving home one night, forced him out of his car and shot him. We never found his car, actually. Beautiful old black Chevy…but they left him for dead at the side of the road.”

Dean turned back to his mom. “Why didn’t I already know about this?”

She shook her head helplessly. “You were four! We couldn’t just tell you that. And later, there didn’t seem like a good time.”

Damn, he wished he’d known before that asshole had been shot. Anger roiled in his gut. Left his dad for dead at the side of the road...

“Wait.” Dean’s eyes snapped back to Victor and his mom. “A black Chevy… an Impala? Sixty-seven model?”

Dean’s mom nodded in confusion. “Yes, it was.”

“Ed has had me restoring an Impala in the back shed. I knew it was probably stolen, but I had no idea it could have been…” He trailed off, overwhelmed. 

Victor nodded, wide-eyed. “I’ll put in a call.” He stood up. “I’ll catch up with y’all later, okay? The police will want statements if you're up to it.” 

As Victor headed out with a squeeze to Mary’s shoulder, Castiel made to stand up as well, wincing as he put his feet on the floor. 

Dean grabbed his sleeve. “Hey, where are you going?”

“Just thought you and your mom might like some space…” He looked sad, and so tired, but there were things that Dean needed to know. 

“Just stay for a little longer?” he pleaded, and was rewarded by the tiny quirk of lips that he already knew was basically a grin for Castiel. 

Before he could sit back down on the bed, though, a bustling by the door made them all turn to look. Several police officers were allowed through, and Cas was dragged off down a hallway in another direction from Dean. 

Dean was shown to a table in what looked like a cafeteria, and asked to list everything he could remember about Ed, Cole, and the stolen cars he'd worked on. He described in as much detail as he could remember the events of that night, and eventually he'd let out such a huge yawn that his mom had told the detectives off, and she’d taken him home despite his protests that Cas was still at the hospital. They’d wanted to keep him for observation, but Dean had been discharged.

Dean fell into an exhausted sleep almost as soon as his head hit his pillow, but his dreams were full of a boy with blue eyes and a bruised face.

_January 3, 2007_

By the time Castiel had been discharged from the hospital the next morning, he was starting to get really annoyed with Meg. They’d waited so long for a doctor to come and look Castiel over, that he’d watched Meg open every drawer in the room to see if she could find anything interesting, and she complained constantly for at least an hour. One of the ward staff had walked past the open door at one point and done a double-take as he saw her rifling through a drawer of extra blankets, and it wasn’t long after that they were allowed to leave.

Castiel supposed he couldn't be too annoyed with her, seeing as how Meg had been the one to call Victor when Castiel had been missing, so they were still close by when Dean had sent him the message. He was frustrated, though—none of the nurses could tell him what had happened to Dean, except that he hadn’t actually been admitted at all. He guessed that was a good thing, and he hadn’t mentioned it to Meg. It was bad enough that she’d had to come here to collect him from the hospital. 

He’d finally spoken to his mom earlier that morning. Victor had called her the previous night and assured her he was okay, but she’d been about to leave for Lawrence when Castiel had spoken to her. He’d convinced her that skipping work wasn’t necessary, so she’d reluctantly agreed to drive down later in the day. He wasn’t looking forward to her arrival—she sounded beside herself. 

Back at Meg’s, he was at a loose end. He was surprised by how well he felt after the whole ordeal, if still kind of sore. Even after they’d pumped him full of fluids and warmed him up, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be warm again after that night and two days spent tied up in the barely-heated shed. His face had bloomed an impressive black eye overnight, and the other bruises on his face and ribs would take a few days to fade. He had also had a few nasty cuts around his wrists from where the cable ties had cut into him, but otherwise, no bones were broken and they’d given him the strong painkillers, so he was just fine.

What he really wanted to do was find out if Dean was okay, but he didn’t have any idea how to contact him. Meg had said she had his number, but his phone had also been smashed during the standoff. When he asked if he could borrow her phone, she reminded him there was another way he could contact him.

Meg chuckled as she logged him into her PC. “You’ve got it so bad, Clarence. I knew you two had some kind of thing going on.”

“I just want to know if he’s all right,” Castiel sighed, frustrated with her insinuations.

“Sure, Jan. Okay, here you go.” She stood up to let him sit and type in his Moondoor login details. When his character logged in, he was momentarily disoriented by her interface. He glanced at her, baffled. “You use the default interface?”

“No, dummy, none of the addons are configured for your toon. Just do talking, no playing, ‘kay?” Meg rolled her eyes and left the room.

Castiel nearly choked when he noticed that Dean was online. He had barely registered the fact when a message appeared. 

> Niteryder: Hey Angel! How are you onine? R u home alrdy?

Castiel smiled, quickly typing his reply.

> Thorsangel: No, i’m at Meg’s. How’s the arm?  
>  Niteryder: It’s a lot bttr althog im typing with one hsnd right noe  
>  Thorsangel: Lol  
>  Niteryder: So it’s really you, huh.. Was all that trye, abit the witnss protection n shit?  
>  Thorsangel: Yes. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.  
>  Niteryder: s cool. Fuck this sucks tryin to type one hsnf. Im coming over. That ok?  
>  Niteryder: hoe long u there for?

Castiel tried to hold in a chuckle. 

> Thorsangel: Your one-handed typing really is terrible. I’ll be here until tomorrow, I think. My mom will be on her way soon.  
>  Niteryder: Don’t go nywhere, k? Im coming.  
>  [Niteryder logged off]

Castiel blinked at the screen for a few moments. Ryder—Dean—was coming over. He abruptly logged out as well and headed upstairs to check what he was wearing was okay, and to apply a slightly more muted version of the eyeliner than he’d worn on New Year’s Eve. His stomach was fizzing with nerves. Why was Dean even interested in seeing him again, anyway? He’d done nothing but fuck up his life. He stared glumly at his black eye and his stupid hair that never sat straight. Why’d he bother to put on eyeliner anyway? Dean was a cool guy, obviously popular with the ladies. He must think he was just a lame try-hard emo kid. 

He had just left his room to head into the bathroom to wash his face when he heard a voice from down the stairs. “Cas?”

 _Holy shit_ , it was Dean. Castiel’s eyes raked over the faded Green Day shirt and the dark green sling strapping his arm tightly to his body. Dean looked uncertain as he returned the appraisal.

“Uh, hello, Dean. Meg let you in.” Cas nearly facepalmed—of course Meg had let him in. He’d been so busy feeling sorry for himself, he hadn’t even heard anyone at the door.

Dean walked up a few stairs. “Heh, yeah, she did. Can I come up? Or are you…”

Dean had stopped on the last stair before the top, and Castiel realized that they were standing more or less in the same place where they had sat on New Year’s Eve, had listened to music together—had _kissed_. He turned abruptly. It was too late to wash away his hangups, so he turned and headed back down the hallway to his room. 

He looked over his shoulder. Dean was still standing at the top of the stairs, looking lost. “Come on,” he said, and went into his room. 

He picked up the clothes that were strewn around on the floor, grateful that Meg had cleaned up the vomit from the floor next to the bed. Dumping his clothes in his suitcase, he winced when he saw his eyeliner was still sitting on the dresser in front of the mirror. 

Dean walked in and looked around, barely glancing at anything before he moved to the window, looking out over the lower level roof below. “Ed seriously dragged you out through here?”

Castiel chuckled in surprise. What had Meg actually told Dean that day? “Apparently, yeah.”

“You were so out of it, man.” Dean laughed, leaning back against the windowsill.

They stood awkwardly for a few moments, then both spoke at once.

“So, you’re—”

“Did Meg tell you?”

They both grinned apologetically, then Dean said, “No, she wouldn’t tell me anything. It wasn’t until I told Charlie your real name and she said it meant ‘Angel of Thursday’—”

“You told Charlie about me?” Castiel blurted, shocked. Did everyone know his secrets now?

Dean put his unbound hand up, looking horrified. “No! Of course not, I just… I had to talk to her about how I... I was kinda freaking out, after we…” He trailed off, waving a finger between them.

“You’d never kissed a guy before?” Castiel breathed, his heart somewhere near his knees. Dean was straight, and he was here to tell Castiel he never wanted to see him again. “Dean, I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Dean said, confusion in his eyes.

“I was so drunk, though. I should never have presumed… I’m sorry. I should have told you who I was at the start.” Castiel sat heavily on his bed, letting his hair fall across his eyes. He couldn’t believe what a mess he’d made of this whole thing.

“Why didn’t you? Tell me, I mean.” Dean’s voice was gentle.

When Castiel glanced up from behind his hair he saw Dean had perched on the chair near the bed. He looked back down at his hands again, picking at the black polish on one nail. “I...I guess I just didn’t want to drag you into the lie.”

“By telling me another one?”

Castiel could almost feel his heart breaking. “I—”

Dean didn’t let him get any further. “I mean, sure, being dragged into things wasn’t much fun. I’m pretty sure the whole ‘someone tried to kill me’ thing is going to come back to freak me out before too long, but for now I’m okay, I think.” He sat forward, suddenly earnest. “But Cas, it doesn’t matter,” Dean interrupted. “Even if I had known, the night might have gone a little differently, I guess, but I hope the outcome would have been the same.”

Castiel glanced up again. “What?” 

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck where the sling must be bothering him. “I guess I...was looking for a good time that night because I missed you. I thought you would never tell me anything about yourself, and I had given up. That makes me sound like such a loser, I know, missing my online best friend, but…”

“No, it really doesn’t.” Something warm was growing inside Castiel’s chest as Dean spoke. It felt alarmingly like hope. 

Dean smiled. 

Castiel considered how he could put his feelings into words. He had to know where Dean stood on the whole relationship thing. He took a breath and let it out slowly before speaking. “I’m sorry if kissing you made you feel uncomfortable.”

Dean huffed out a short laugh. “That’s just it, Angel. With you, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.” 

Castiel’s eyes widened and he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “Really?”

“Really. And if you wouldn’t mind,” Dean said as he moved from the chair to sit next to Castiel on the bed, “I’d like to try it again when I’m sober.”

Castiel flicked his hair away from his face, reaching a hand up to run his fingers lightly along Dean’s jaw. Dean’s eyes were brilliant at close range like this, bright and happy. He leaned forward, closing the distance between them and brushed their lips together gently, then more firmly as Dean leaned into it. Dean made a small sound of satisfaction that Cas was sure made his blood fizz in his veins. He moved his hand to the back of Dean’s neck and pulled him closer until he inhaled sharply through his nose.

Castiel pulled back. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

Dean winced but then grinned. “It’s just a scratch.” He leaned in again and gently pressed his lips to Cas’. “How’re you doing, anyway? You look fine—apart from the shiner, I guess.”

Castiel looked down at his hands, pushing his sleeves up to reveal the ugly marks on his wrists. “It’s mostly bruises,” he said as Dean reached out to pick up one of his hands and brought it, palm up, to his face so he could kiss Cas’ wrist. Castiel’s heart melted into a puddle, and he pulled Dean in again to kiss his lips sweetly.

“Clarence? Dean? You guys done sucking face yet?” Meg’s voice drifted up the stairs. 

Castiel pulled back from Dean, turning to make sure she wasn’t actually coming into the room. “What do you want, Meg?” he called.

“Are you decent?” she called from much closer.

When Castiel went to move backwards, Dean grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him in for another lingering kiss. Castiel had to laugh when Meg stuck her head around the doorframe anyway, letting out a snort of her own.

“Seriously, could you two just scram for the night? I’m happy for you and all, but sheesh. Clarence, your mom will be here in the morning so make the most of your time, will ya?”

Castiel turned to smile at her, then stood up pulling Dean up by his good hand. “She’s right, we don’t have a lot of time. Show me what’s good in town?”

“Thank fuck,” Castiel heard her mutter as she disappeared back down the hallway.

Dean released a sigh as he gently brushed Castiel’s hair behind his ear, his palm lingering near Castiel’s jaw. “Are you sure you want to go out? I’d be just as happy listening to music here. It’s cold out there!” 

Castiel didn’t think his heart could get any more full. “Let’s at least go for dinner? We can come back and do that after if you want.”

They headed out into the chill afternoon, hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No footnotes, nothing to see here :)


	8. Epilogue

_February 26, 2007_

The second phase started out well, Castiel thought. The raid was all still alive, which was always a good start (and often a surprise), and their newest recruit, Moosetrax, was staying out of trouble admirably. 

“Here comes fire,” Ryder called as he switched positions with the off-tank. Castiel made sure to keep him healed up as he switched to focus on the other tank, leaving the other two healers to concentrate on keeping the raid alive. 

The fireballs rained down, and Castiel held his breath. This was usually about as far as they got—it was almost guaranteed at least one person would be in the wrong place. But this time, the raid stuck together and moved like a well-oiled machine away from where the fireballs hit. They were alive, although a little singed. 

Ryder’s voice sounded in Castiel’s ears again, making him jump. “He’s only at ten percent! Hammer him down—c’mon Sammy, show us what you’ve got.”

Everyone who could deal damage popped their cooldowns[15] and brightly colored lights flickered across Castiel’s screen. He tried to ignore the effects and focus on keeping Ryder alive as he took over tanking again, then one of the mages dropped, then a cleric, then the whole raid’s health started dropping. 

Then there was quiet for just a moment, before Kevin said, “That’s it.” 

Castiel’s eyes flicked up to the top part of his screen again, to see the boss dropping like a felled tree. He caught his breath in shock. 

A moment later, screams and shouting broke out across the voice chat. 

Castiel let out his breath in a long sigh, and murmured, “We did it.” The final cutscene rolled, but no one was watching—they'd all seen it a hundred times anyway on the strategy vids. 

A lightness swept through him, an elation, and his breath caught in his throat again as he heard Dean in his ear, “Thank fucking Christ. Angel, you're a fucking genius.”

The rest of the group called out their congratulations and Castiel felt like he might burst. He tried to say they could thank the strategy guides, but Dean clicked on the loot and everyone was cheering again when they all saw the rewards they'd worked so hard for.

Six months. Six months they'd worked on this boss, clearing their way through each week. They were trying hard to push through the end of this raid before new content was released, and they had finally, finally done it with only a few weeks to spare. 

Kevin let out a dramatic sigh. “I love you all, you know that?”

Castiel laughed with the others when they saw the Staff of the Divine Prophet had dropped—made for mages and, according to Kevin over the last few months, him. 

Sam's voice piped up on the chat, “I'll fight you for it!”

Dean replied, “Dude, you've only been on the team for like, two weeks.” He assigned it to Kevin, who thanked him soberly. 

Castiel could hear the smile in Charlie's voice. “And the Warhammer of the Righteous can only go to our esteemed raid leader!”

The group cheered again, but Dean protested, “No, maybe Jesse and I should roll for it—”

“Just shut up and take it,” Charlie said flatly. 

As soon as Dean had assigned the Hammer to himself, Meg called, “Party time at the stronghold!”

The Full Moon Inn never knew what hit it, with their little raid group making their toons dance, sing and drink Moondoorian ale long into the night. Or at least until Mrs. Winchester made Sam go to bed, and others in the group admitted that it was getting late and they should probably also be going. 

As each member drifted away to other parts of the game or logged off, Castiel reflected for a moment on how these people came from so many different places and backgrounds, but had committed to play together to win this battle week after week. 

A message popped up, startling him from his thoughts.

> Niteryder: hey, you logging off now?  
>  Thorsangel: No  
>  Thorsangel: You want to go run something? I was thinking i’d go pick herbs or something.. Don’t really feel like healing right now xD

Castiel couldn’t believe that Dean would want to jump back into a dungeon after their raid victory. In fact if he could help it, Castiel didn’t want to look at the Pinnacle of Pain for a good week or more.

> Niteryder: do the herbs grow in the glade?

Castiel smiled. Since he’d got back from Lawrence, he and Dean had spent quite a few nights in the Whispering Glade, just chilling out while they chatted. It was so much easier now that he didn’t mind speaking on the voice server. His mom might even be coming around to the idea that he was actually playing games with other actual people who weren’t out to kill him. It was a work in progress. 

> Thorsangel: I’ll meet you there :)

Once he was in the glade, Castiel leaned over to his iPod and pressed pause, stopping the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus song that had been playing quietly. This song was called something like “Your Guardian Angel”, which always made him smile. He might have been the one named after an angel, but he thought Dean deserved the title of Guardian, after what they’d been through together.

He saw Niteryder coming towards him through the trees, although his smile dropped when Ryder turned and stabbed his sword onto one of the fluffy bunnies that hopped around the glade. The bunny fell over with a squeak, and Dean’s voice came over the voice chat, “Oops, misclicked. Sorry, Bugs.”

Castiel had to laugh at that. “Congratulations, boss,” he said, typing _/hug_ to let their characters have the contact he was craving.

Dean’s voice was warm, but he sounded exhausted. “Hey, back atcha. It was your idea that got us there, anyway.”

“I guess you had to listen to me sometime, right?” Castiel returned with a smirk. 

Dean huffed, but didn’t say anything further. Castiel ran his toon around the glade, picking a few of the herbs around, content with listening to the calm soundtrack. 

“Wish I could hug you for real, man,” Dean said quietly. “Sorry,” he continued after a few moments. “Mom went to bed too, so I can’t be too loud.”

“It’s okay. I was just thinking the same thing. In fact I wish I could kiss you right now. Couldn’t you just drive over?” Castiel sighed, leaning back in his chair to stretch his arms above his head. 

“Why don’t I, though?” Dean said earnestly.

Castiel sat up, blinking at the screen. “What?”

“How far away is Spring break? Two weeks?”

“More or less.” Castiel looked at the calendar on the wall near his desk. “Yeah, the ninth is the last day of school.”

Castiel could hear the smile in Dean’s voice as he said, “I’m coming up there. I’m gonna pick you up from school.” 

“But... won’t you be at school that day yourself? It’s like a seven-hour drive.”

“Fuck school. I’m happy to miss the last day if it means I’ll see you for an extra few hours.”

Castiel’s body was tingling all over. Dean was really going to drive all the way here just to pick him up? “I’d love that, Dean. And of course you’re welcome to stay here. My mom will probably make you sleep in a separate room. Not that my bed is big enough for two… or that we’d be… y’know…” He trailed off, his face burning.

“Angel, it’s cool. I’ll sleep on the couch, I really don’t mind,” Dean said, laughing. “And what we do in your room before bedtime is none of her business, right?”

Castiel was sure his face couldn’t be any more inflamed, but there must be some blood to spare because other parts of him were taking notice at that. “Sure,” he mumbled. “How are we going to pass the time until then, though? No more raids to distract us.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I could start with telling you all the places I’d like to kiss you…”

Castiel’s heart leapt into his throat. “Go on,” he said, strained.

“There’s a spot just beneath your ear that I’d like to start—first I’d kiss there, then…” 

And Castiel’s blood sang with delight as he listened to Dean’s voice quietly tell him exactly what he had to look forward to.

_March 9, 2007_

The hours dragged on the final Friday of term. The days were finally warm enough to get around without a coat, and the students yearned to get outside and into the more pleasant weather over the spring break. 

Castiel yearned for a slightly different reason. He had been busily drawing tiny doodles of stars across the top of his notepad, paying as little attention to the Math class as he could. He’d gone over and over the options of what he would say to Dean when he finally saw him again, but so far everything he’d come up with sounded ridiculous, like a poorly written romance novel. 

The bell sounded, making him sit up straight with a start. The students around him started packing up their books as the teacher tried to get the last few words in, but Castiel was out the door and halfway to his locker before most of the classrooms started to empty.

He dumped his books and quickly inspected his face in the mirror inside. His hair was still fluffy and dumb but at least his eyeliner wasn’t smudged. He slung his bag over his shoulder and slammed his locker, finding Hannah standing on the other side. She grinned at him, and he couldn’t help but return it. 

“Hey, Jimmy. Today’s the day, huh?” she asked, bouncing on her toes.

If Castiel didn’t know better, he’d say she was as excited as he was, but that was physically impossible—he was practically vibrating with the need to see Dean. “You coming?”

“Hell yes!” Hannah beamed. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”

She looped her arm through the crook of Castiel’s elbow and and they walked quickly down the corridor towards the front door. Castiel had been spending more time with Hannah since the holidays—lunchtimes and once when she’d invited him to her book club. It was nice to have a friend to share the day-to-day with, even if he was still nowhere near ready to tell her his real name. 

The front entrance of the school was in chaos, with students, parents, cars, and buses all over the place. Castiel searched up and down for Dean, but couldn’t see him waiting anywhere. He wondered if something had delayed him on the way here from Lawrence, but the roads should have been fairly quiet on a Friday, and Pontiac was never busy. He and Hannah walked down the steps and out to the front gate.

What if something had happened to him, though? The Impala must be pretty distinctive, from the photos Dean had shown him. Alastair might be dead, and Ed and Cole Trenton both locked away, but Castiel and his family were still at risk, and now Dean, as well. The woman who had been at the auto shop with Alastair, Raphiella Dumont, was still at large. They may never be able to relax, and if something had happened to Dean again, Castiel would never forgive himself. 

He jumped a little when Hannah squeezed his arm, making him look at her concerned face. “Jimmy. He’s going to be here. Just breathe.”

He took a couple of deep, gulping breaths, then his heart jumped into his throat again when he heard it—a low rumbling, roaring sound, moving along the road and pulling in to stop by the curb. A shiny, black Chevy, with a tall, lanky, smiling boy at the wheel. Dean. It was Dean. 

Castiel managed to get Hannah to let go of her vice grip on his arm so he could run down the sidewalk to where Dean was just getting out of the car. 

Dean had just slammed the car door shut when he turned around to be met by an armful of Angel, barrelling into him. “Whoa, hey there!” He laughed as he hugged Cas to him tightly, burying his nose in his hair.

Cas pulled back and smiled, and it was like the sun hitting Dean squarely in the eyes. His breath caught, and he grinned back. “Hey, Angel.”

“Hello, Dean.” Cas stepped back suddenly, revealing a shy-looking girl standing behind him, her eyes almost comically wide. “Dean, this is Hannah.”

Dean smiled at her, and she blushed scarlet—almost as red as Cas was looking. “Hi Hannah. Nice to meet you.” He reached out a hand, and Hannah took it and dropped it almost as quickly. 

“H-hi, Dean. Nice to meet... meet you.” She turned to Cas, continuing quickly, “Sorry Jimmy, I’ve gotta go. Have a great weekend! I’ll see you.” She turned and practically ran off, while Dean tried to hold in a laugh.

“Don’t laugh, she’s really shy,” Cas said, pushing him lightly in the arm. 

“I would never. She seems nice. I’m glad you’ve got someone here now.” Dean let his eyes roam over Cas’ face. “God, I’m glad to see you.” 

Castiel smiled again. “Likewise. Come on, let’s get out of here. I feel like everyone’s watching.” 

“That’s because my baby is gorgeous.” Dean stroked his hand lightly across the Impala’s roof. 

Cas huffed out a laugh, moving around the car to open the passenger door. “I’m so glad they let you keep her.” 

Inside the car, he grabbed Dean’s jacket and pulled him in for a quick kiss—just the barest meeting of lips. When Cas sat back, Dean just stared at him, still grinning. He couldn’t seem to stop. They’d talked every day in some format since Cas had come back here in the New Year, sometimes with their voices and sometimes through text, but nothing was quite like seeing each other in person again. 

He started up the car with a rumble, and after a few moments the tape in the deck started to play “Dark Blue”. He knew this was one of Cas’ favorites from New Year’s Eve, so he’d cued the tape up especially. Every time he heard it now, it reminded him of the ease, the peace of that night. 

Cas gasped when he heard it. “This isn’t your usual thing.” 

Dean shrugged and pulled away from the curb.

Cas continued, “How’d you even get a tape of this?”

Dean laughed. “They still make cassettes of some things! But actually, I’ve got an old tape deck that lets me record from a computer.”

“You… you made a mixtape?”[16] Castiel sounded awed.

“Well, yeah, I guess.” Dean frowned. “I’ve made a few now. This one just happens to have music you recommended to me.”

“I think that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

Dean eyed him, dubiously. “Sure. Whatever. Come here.” He gestured for Cas to shuffle over and tucked his arm around his shoulders. Over the last couple of months, Dean had been delighted to see Cas opening up to him more and more. He really was pleased to meet Hannah—he knew she’d been helping to bring Cas, or at least, _Jimmy_ , out of his shell, and he was grateful. 

No matter what might come, Dean was determined to make this long-distance thing work. Who knew what might happen once school was finished, but until then, he and Cas were planning to see each other as often as they could. 

Cas leaned forward to place a kiss on Dean’s cheek, and as they drove up the road away from the school, just for a moment, Dean felt like he was flying.

### Playlist

WaywardJenn and I put together a playlist for this fic (Yes, we made you a mixtape).

[Listen in Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2sUA92Mhnyp7qqOBivyKNX) or

[Listen in Apple Music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/dark-blue/pl.u-leyl0kYfjZxWex)

Or if neither of those methods work for you, here’s a full list of the songs included in the fic:

  * Evanescence, “Bring Me To Life”
  * Death Cab for Cutie, “What Sarah Said”
  * Dashboard Confessional, “Hands Down”
  * Ben Folds Five, “Song for the Dumped”
  * Korn, “Freak on a Leash”
  * Hawthorne Heights, “Bury My Bones at Crystal Cove”
  * Paramore, “Emergency”
  * Limp Bizkit, “Behind Blue Eyes”
  * Muse, “Starlight”
  * Jack’s Mannequin, “Dark Blue”
  * Snow Patrol, “Chasing Cars”
  * Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, “Your Guardian Angel”
  * Led Zeppelin, “Immigrant Song”
  * Pussycat Dolls, “Buttons”
  * Shakira, “Hips Don’t Lie”
  * Justin Timberlake “SexyBack”



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 15 Cooldowns are spells with high defence or increased damage or healing effects that can only be used once every few minutes (they need to cool down).  [ return to text ]
> 
> 16 OH MY GOD HE MADE HIM A MIXTAPE  [ return to text ]
> 
> ~~
> 
> Thanks so much for reading my story! I hope you enjoyed it. There's plenty more Destiel in [my catalogue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz), some of it with a slightly higher rating than this sweet tale. 
> 
> Oubliette-od and I would love to hear your thoughts.
> 
> Of course there are plenty more stories in the [Dean/Cas Pinefest 2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DCPF_2019) collection, so read on!


End file.
